Relentless is one word for having twins. Days pass in a blur from feed to feed, nap to nap, walk to walk, at least one baby almost always on the arm – interspersed with the usual pleasures of course, such as a baby smiling charmingly at you or squealing with pleasure as I blow a raspberry on his or her tummy. Those quiet, rare times when both babies sleep are either when strolling round the park or doing something useful at home. I reach the end of the day without a moment ‘for myself’.

That is until we perfected our bedtime routine. Now, we find ourselves hands empty, flat quiet at 8.30pm. This sudden arrival of spare time initially left me feeling disconcerted. Surely there was something I should be doing, I thought whilst wandering aimlessly from room to room, or at least one baby about to wake up and need to be rocked for a while. But no, on they sleep, and we have done everything we need to do to make the following day run smoothly. Twiddling my thumbs, I realise I no longer know what to do with myself.

The possibilities line up – read a book, check emails, have a bath, simply sit on the settee … So tonight I painted my toenails and read an article in the New Statesmen. That idea for my first novel can wait until tomorrow, depending on the success of bedtime.