Bipolar Disorder-ly

Why, in all these rather bossy manuals/programmes about parenting, or child-rearing, do you never see the following advice to parents:
“Pour out a large slug of your favourite wine and don’t speak to anyone until you have sucked the final dregs from the glass.”
It works for me every time.
Like a converse version of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, my potion of choice turns me from snarling, intolerant beast into rational, considerate human being. Here are a few examples:
Sober Mum bellows ‘What do you mean, you’ve lost your cardigan again?’
Drunk Mum reassures ‘It’ll turn up somewhere.’
Sober Mum yells ‘For God’s sake, can’t you eat a yogurt without wearing it?’
Drunk Mum soothes ‘Don’t worry, it’ll come out in the wash.’
Drunk Mum is also capable of ignoring nose picking, pocket billiards and endless noisy horseplay, preferring to smile indulgently and kiss the golden heads of her little cherubs. Sadly the kids are forced into the company of cantankerous Sober Mum for most of the time. They occasionally get to spend time with her much jollier counterpart (Sunday lunch, the odd Friday night in front of the telly) but in order to maintain some sense of propriety, it’s a rare treat.
Tonight’s tipple is La Marca prosecco (Ocado £5.99). I like to have a couple of glasses on a Friday night, a couple before dinner on Saturday night, and the last bits while making lunch on Sunday. Its light and peachy, and makes me feel festive. I can’t afford a ‘champagne lifestyle’ but the ‘prosecco lifestyle’ suits me just fine.