There’s no pressure on a gentleman that remotely compares to that on a toddler-father on Mother’s Day. Keeping the silence of the house to allow a well deserved rest for the Starring Lady pales into insignificance when it comes to preparing a breakfast tray with a thigh-high sous-chef.

It was all worth it when he woke her up, presenting the unique sticky tree he had concocted. And demanding lovingly that she butter for him the first slice of special, filially-gifted, Mothering Sunday breakfast-in-bed toast.

Shame we’re all back in the less vivid, static-filled world of work tomorrow, really.