I was driving my niece to university, and my son asked what time I’d be back, which was itself inherently sad. When they’re little and you’re leaving them with a babysitter and they ask in a plaintive tiny voice for your estimated time of return, and your heart is gripped in a vice of guilt and impatience, all you long for is the day when they don’t care whether you go to the pub or not. Then, wham, they’re 18, and they ask in a hopeful, slightly shifty tone, as if wishing for the answer “I’ll be back at 2am, or maybe........

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