There is something different about the world this morning. Birds are singing. The sun is shining. When I open my eyes, it doesn’t hurt. My brain works. I’m not grimacing, trying to think of the word for “coffee”.

Suddenly I realise what’s different. No children came in the middle of the night to list their complaints to the management. There was no soiling. There was no sudden, inexplicable thirsts. No dreams that were “The scariest dream that has ever been dreamed by anyone, ever”.

No one was hot. No one was cold. No one fell out of bed.

No one insisted on stealing my place in my bed and slowly head-butting me out until I teetered on the edge like the coach in The Italian Job.

In short, I slept. Oh my dear lord, I had completely forgotten what it felt like.

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As I make myself a cup of… coffee, my children appear. I watch them, slack jawed, as they calmly and pleasantly help each other down the stairs. They say good morning. They smile. They’ve slept too!

They ask if they can have some milk and watch their favourite TV programme. They ask nicely. They use pleasant and polite words. They are not shouting.

They sit themselves side by side, without arguing, hitting, kicking, scratching, screaming, bellowing or soiling themselves. They watch their programme. They drink their milk. All is well. The house is calm and quiet.

OK, so now I’m scared. I have clearly woken up in an alternate dimension. Or my children have been kidnapped and replaced by robotic children programmed to be nice. It just doesn’t feel right.

When the kidnappers make their demands, there will be some very difficult decisions to make. I mean, I’m not made of money. And these robot children... are lovely.