The absurdity of middle-aged existence is that today’s pressure is entirely centred around finishing the office before Pete gets home so he can move the sauna.

The sauna then needs repositioning so I can get my yoga space ready for Wednesday before we head off in the campervan to Wales to almost certainly freeze our tits off because apparently May now thinks it’s October. (Seriously, who am I?)

This is where I am in life. Not climbing corporate ladders. Not launching tech start-ups.

Just aggressively sorting cables while monitoring weather apps and discussing outdoor thermal layers with increasing sincerity.

And honestly? The pressure feels real. Not because any of this is genuinely urgent, but because I’ve reached that stage of life where momentum matters to me. I want things moving forward. I want the house sorted, the spaces functional, the plans happening.

I want to feel like I’m actively living my life rather than administrating chaos.

Also, if I’m honest, I’m deliberately ignoring the completely batshit state of global politics and focusing instead on organising drawers and unidentified charging cables.

Because at least there is some possibility of order there. World peace may be unattainable, but I can create a labelled charging station and a calm yoga corner.

And at this point, that feels like a perfectly reasonable coping strategy.