There’s nothing more empowering than having your apron strings untied from the sink.

Unless you get untied from the sink so that you can trot off in a wool suit to your box on the terrace for every daylight hour and more besides, after which you will glamorously engage in up-to-the-minute witty banter with 40 of your nearest and dearest colleagues who you are dining with again. You then of course go home, ring your mother and actually listen to what she says, clean the toilet, put the bin out (you’re a liberated woman after all), read the paper and a few novels (see the witty banter point above), bake something nice to take to work tomorrow and save at least 15 children from starvation or tractor accidents or something, all while looking hopelessly alluring.

If you’re managing all that and vodka isn’t a part of your daily routine then I hate you and there is nothing for you here.

Perhaps feminism should go away and focus on the serious stuff, like stopping honour killing and human trafficking and schoolgirls wearing their boyfriends’ trackpants. I don’t want to be “empowered” to do anything else!

One of my guilty indulgences is to imagine that I’m a 1950’s housewife and I don’t need to juggle at all - I would just need to raise perfect kids and keep a spotless house while wearing lovely sticky-outy poofy skirts with poodles on them.

Unfortunately I’m not that great at housekeeping really and if the behaviour of our cats is any indication I’d be a pretty awful parent. I think I could handle the poodles though.

So what has feminism done for me? It has allowed me to do a whole multitude of things all at once and justify being pretty ordinary at all of them. Yay feminism!

I think I need a cup of tea, a bex and a good lie down.