I sprung out of bed with zest, rather than feeling like my body had been scraped off the floor.

Yes, this week I was without children or a hangover.

It was as invigorating as it was unnerving not having two tiny terrorists indoors wrecking the house, so I decided to make hay and spring clean.

As soon as my decision to channel my inner-Kim and Aggie was made, I was instantly regretting it as I tried to narrow down my to-do list with jobs I ‘don’t mind’ doing.

Turns out I detest them all, although not equally.

Top of the list has to be changing the bed sheets. Is there any job more exhausting to do and less flattering when you’re doing it?

If you’re anything like me, the stripping of the bed and the re-clothing of the bed take place at different times. I mean, each job is so unbelievably soul-sapping, they need to be done separately.

This in itself almost always presents a problem, in that, usually I forget I have to do the second part. So after a tough day of, well everything, I head to bed only to realise I haven’t re-made the damn thing.

The feelings of devastation and complete self-loathing at this point are unmatched.

My bed is a ridiculously large, super-kingsize which means you pretty much need a crane to assist in changing the covers.

Alas in the absence of a large metal claw, it’s just me and my unfeasibly short arms struggling with enough duvet cover to parachute an army into battle.

Because my bed is so big, and I am vertically-challenged, changing the duvet usually involves me climbing inside the thing to ensure the quilt is stretched from corner-to-corner.

But as is always the case with this job, despite being built to do so, the cover never perfectly fits the quilt, resulting in epic bumps and rolls all over the place. By this point, however I’m too tired and demented by the exhausting task to care.

Another bad job is bin-emptying. The chore guaranteed to make you chuck-up. A job made even more revolting and degrading by the new recycling initiatives of our local councils.

As such we now have three bins -recycling, food recycling and general waste - to drag outside. That’s three lots of pungent rubbish to dump and three lots of revolting bin juice to avoid coming into contact with. Don’t get me wrong, I wholeheartedly promote recycling, but just coz it’s right, don’t make it nice.

Another of this ilk is cleaning the bathroom - yuck. This is up there with the worst jobs and for obvious reasons. As one colleague (over) shared this week, ‘Scraping your housemate’s excrement off the toilet”, makes this chore his least favourite to do (and my least favourite to hear about).

Washing the dishes - Unfortunately I can still remember life without a dishwasher. It all seems like a very bad dream now, but one which is as vivid as it is horrifying. The advent of the dishwasher has genuinely revolutionised my life and now I simply couldn’t be without it. I would rather give up one of my children than my dishwasher. Hell, I’d give away the pair of them if you’d chuck in some free Finish tablets. Ironing - there’s nothing like a giant pile of ironing to make you hate your life.

Enough said.