NOTHING good ever happens after midnight. Or so the wisdom goes. My younger self – who once went bar-hopping in New Orleans into the wee small hours and on another occasion stayed up until dawn to watch a magical sunrise over Sydney Harbour Bridge – would possibly disagree.

But these days I would argue that nothing good ever happens after 8pm.

Unless it is squeezing in an extra episode of cosy crime drama Only Murders In The Building before my pre-bedtime rigmarole gets under way (nothing very exciting; mainly popping vitamins and applying a vat of moisturiser).

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Then it is lights out by 10pm (although preferably 9.30pm). This is my polite way of saying please don’t invite me to go anywhere in the evening because I will only make it embarrassing for us all with a slew of outlandish excuses (alien abduction, being called away on a........

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