Before I even get into Telegraph & Argus towers, where I spend all week thinking up something to say in this Friday column (note to boss: I don’t spend all week thinking about this column. I spend about five minutes. But then you probably guessed that), I feel like I have generally already done a day’s work. Take today, for example.

At around 6.30am, I will drag myself out of bed and fall downstairs like a particularly dishevelled slinky, where I grope my way around a darkened kitchen trying to find cups, coffee and something with which to turn cold water into hot water. I do this because at this time my wife is in the shower. Before you start to feel too sorry for me, I should point out that the missus sets off for work at the ungodly hour of 7.30am, and me making her a cup of coffee before she goes is my way of assuaging my guilt about this.

While she’s in the shower, I will quickly pile all the dirty dishes that I said I’d clear away the night before into the dishwasher and spray something that smells of pine or lemon around the kitchen, flapping ineffectually at the work-surfaces with a cloth.

The children will start to get up and check their Instagram accounts to see if anyone’s “liked” a photo of last night’s tea, and I will whip out the ironing board to iron all the school uniform I’d promised to iron at the weekend. Then it’s time for another coffee.

When Mrs B departs for work, I will make a complete mess of the kitchen by preparing breakfast for the kids, and make another cup of coffee which I will leave on the work-surface to go cold. Someone will remember they have homework and someone else will want to show me around the virtual treehouse they have created on the videogame Minecraft.

Then it’s time for a shower. I will emerge from the bathroom to an ambush by one of the children with a Nerf gun, and this will kick off an impromptu battle around the upstairs until I shout at them to get dressed, neatly sidestepping the fact that I am responsible for making them late by getting my Nerf revenge.

We leave the house, then I run back to collect the forgotten clarinet/PE kit/homework/dinner money. When they are dropped off at the school gate, I go to enjoy my bus ride into work.

After work, it’s a bus ride home and then there will doubtless be some Scouts/dancing class/football training/ youth club activity that needs to be taxied to or from. My wife will read this column and say it looks like I’m claiming I do everything by myself, when that is patently not the case. We will have a row and go to bed.

Tomorrow I will fall out of bed at 6.30am. But then I will realise it is Saturday and I have woken everyone up. Still, it’s the weekend. And that’s a whole new kettle of fish...