“H, look at moiiiiieeeee, look at moieeeeee” I say in my Yorkshire accent, knowing she doesn’t know, but knowing I sound like Kath Day-Knight (and getting occasional reminders from my Aussie husband).

Heck, and now I’m sitting here on my own downstairs with a glass of the red stuff, having my own ‘woine toime’ with whoever is out there possibly reading this.

The worst thing in all of this is I’d probably, almost definitely wear a leotard with a bra like that, should I choose to do that kind of workout at home or indeed own a leotard.

Help me.

The future. Probably.