No more squashing yourself into a train carriage like a sardine with a mortgage. No traffic jams. No small talk with Colin in middle management who always smells faintly of beef crisps. You wake up, roll out of bed, and BAM, you’re “at work.” Sort of. After a coffee. And maybe one quick TikTok scroll. But still. Less stress, more energy, and your car’s not guzzling £9 a litre just to get you to a business park in Swindon.

Yes, gravy counts. Tea? Definitely. Even beer, technically though if you start counting your pints as part of a health routine, you might be living your best life... or developing gout.

A hangover is your body’s furious retaliation for letting you be an absolute numpty the night before.

So there I am, mid-pint, telling Gaz about the time I beat the fruit machine three times in a row (still my proudest moment), and he suddenly bolts to the loo again.

Look, no one wants to talk about their bum. You don’t bring it up over fish and chips. You don’t text your mate on a Tuesday about your poo.