Without wishing to involve you in the intimate details of my domestic life, you nevertheless might be interested to learn that I?m sitting in my office typing this at 7.45am on a Monday morning. Okay, I?m unbelievably conscientious (astute readers will already have fathomed that), so what?

More remarkable even than the fact that I?m working when most others are munching their toast, is what I?m not doing. What I?m not doing is screaming at my daughter, Charlotte, that if she doesn?t hurry up and get in the car so that I can driver her to school, we?ll get another snotty letter from the headmaster alerting us to the importance of punctuality. (For some reason I resent being chastised by someone younger than me as it offends my sense of the natural social order).

Instead, there is an air of calmness about the Agran household which is rarely apparent. Those same astute readers who have already fathomed how unbelievably conscientious I am will almost certainly have also sussed that this is half-term. For me, half-terms are like consecutive birdies because my darling wife and darling daughter invariably visit my other darling daughter and my darling grandchildren in Bath, which leaves me clear to enjoy the golf on television (congratulations to Mark James, who won last night on the Champions Tour) instead of watching some girlie rubbish.

Setanta Sports, who nicked American golf from poor Mr Murcoch?s Sky, has already begun to repay my colossal investment in it. A more detailed critique of their coverage some other time, right now I have to go to the local shop and buy some butter. For goodness sake, when?s my wife getting back?