HAVING watched the final episode of the C4 drama Humans, which is about robots, I turned to Himself and said I could do with a synth – short for synthetic, for those who didn’t see the series.

He looked perturbed. He’d seen those articles about lonely people buying life-like dollies for sexual purposes and I’m not naive enough to think he’s the only bloke who’s ever wondered if there’s an Angelina Jolie model.

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But I explained that it wasn’t to replace him – although a life-sized Hugh Jackman, who unblocks the sink and throws together a dinner party for six, would be a welcome addition to any household.

No, I wouldn’t care if my synth looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame – provided he didn’t swing on the light fittings or jump out of dark corners.

I’d just be grateful for the chance to offload some of the time-consuming chores that make all the difference to whether our lives are calm or stressed.

Take my office at home, the hub of my working life. It desperately needs re-decorating. “Just do it,” I hear you say.

But it’s not that simple. Before I get to the point of putting paint on walls, I’ve got to sort out hundreds of books, putting myself through the emotional trauma of whether I should get rid of my now grown-up children’s full set of Harry Potter books or save them for the happy memories they elicit of cosy bedtime stories.

Then, when it’s done, the job of transporting them to the Sue Ryder shop is another monumental task requiring Herculean strength and several car trips. Do I really want to spend an entire weekend doing that? Hell, no.

A synth would just get in there and sort them into two piles – useful or redundant, goodbye Hogwarts, hello Sue Ryder.

In a house with a synth, you’d never run out of toilet paper, food would never be past its use-by date, the dog wouldn’t have to sit cross-legged waiting for you to take it for walkies, the kids would get a proper dinner instead of McDonalds and there would always be a fancy dress costume in the wardrobe for those last-minute school dress-up days.

My house would be a haven of hygienic tranquility. I could get to the gym, practise meditation and mindfulness.

There’d be no stress hissy fits, everyone would want me as their number one friend. I’d be more laid-back than Yoko Ono.

And, let’s face it, I’d probably end up bored to tears.