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I hate being late, and yet I constantly am. Consider the morning routine. We have a newborn, a four-year-old and a two-year-old, and the general arrangement is that I take both older ones on the school run each day.

Tasks in approximate order of completion: get porridge on, corral two sets of children’s clothes, change nappy, boil kettle for tea, feed cat, scoop cat shit out of litter tray, wash hands, stir porridge, wipe child’s nose, congratulate self on calmness and efficiency, boil kettle again, turn on Today programme, make tea, dole out porridge, suffer 10-minute shouting match over which…

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