Last night I hosted a dinner party at my house, after work, for eight mums from my son’s school. Not a major achievement as it goes – jar of curry paste, a few peppers, bit of chicken and bob’s your uncle.
Except that a year ago last night, aged 35, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown; going through the perfect storm of divorce, an end to a year’s maternity leave and the start of a big new job, all in the same week.