Every night before bed I do the same things, in the same order. Remove make up, moisturise face, brush hair, put pyjamas on, brush teeth, apply hand cream and lip balm, and climb into bed.

And every night, around about the brushing my hair stage, my husband calls for me to hurry up.

This is because, to him, getting ready for bed is a simple one step process – remove day clothes.

This is not a gender issue. I know many men who spend hours, and hundreds of pounds worth of products, pampering before they snooze.

And countless women whose bedtime routine is one step – lie down on bed. To me it is a simple matter of being a night owl, and thus prepared. I suck at mornings.

There’s a high chance I’ll fall out of bed and run straight into my day. A good hour after my alarm sounds.

There’s no time for moisturising, when there’s good sleep to be had. My partner bounces out of bed at 5.30am, and presumably does his beautifying then. I’m asleep so I can’t tell you.

Trying to talk to me early in the morning, or him late at night is as effective as trying to shout a message from the top of One Canada Square in Canary Wharf.

Hence, if I return home after my husband’s gone to bed, I find a selection of things he thinks I need outside our bedroom door.

This week was a particular stellar collection, like the results of a terrible memory game: pyjamas, gym t-shirt, two pairs of hiking socks, and a tumble dryer ball.

I assume he mistook the tumble dryer ball for my physio equipment. Either that or he was being overly optimistic about me doing some late night laundry. For all I know he explained it the next morning.

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