It’s a regular occurrence.

I start feeling achey, tense, sleeping badly, and generally out of sorts with the world… then I go to an exercise class or on a long run. All is transformed, and I realise - once again - what has been missing from my life. Movement. Weights. Endorphins. And, inevitably in the run up to Christmas, as turkey lunches and Quality Street selections slid into abandonment of normality (the odd Smug Run aside) I knew I’d feel the same until January and a routine returned.

And so it was this week as I bounced back out of pilates full of the joys of spring even as the mercury plummeted further. Life was good again!

Albeit unpredictable. Because then I returned home and crashed down to earth as a familiar fear raised its unwanted - and literal - head.

There was a mouse in the house*.

I did eventually manage to usher it out into the hall - sorry to my neighbours, anything else was beyond me - and then barricaded the front d…