Being quite a narcissistic and cautiously arrogant individual I tend to write only about me, myself and I in this column.
Well I might be a tube, but sometimes I can be a fair-minded tube, so I’m going to devote around 75 per cent of this article to my long-suffering wife.
For over a decade now Jayne has ploughed a dedicated path towards self-improvement and enlightenment, becoming a Reiki master and a qualified Burlesque chair dance instructor and learning the ways of meditation, kinetic chain release massage and the secrets of laughter yoga therapy.
All of these pursuits are designed to help others and that’s what Jayne, a nurse by trade, is all about.
In the last decade I have discovered the merits of hair gel, learned a fourth guitar chord and become a black belt on Netflix.
While I’m quite happy to slowly deteriorate on a couch with some crisps and an Irn Bru Extra watching some American Football, Jayne is dashing here, there and everywhere helping people to feel better about themselves.
From teaching new dance moves to hen parties and the ladies in her classes to helping family members and friends relinquish their stresses and strains, she has time for everyone – and every day she also looks after a small child and a slightly larger middle-aged child.
Next week she will be using her many and varied skills to help out at our son’s school and has also been headhunted by some pretty impressive honchos down south to provide some trauma-busting laughter yoga to a group of people in London who experienced tragic loss earlier this year.
When she heads over the border next year I will keep the home fires – and the Virgin TV box – burning awaiting her return.