So, wasted about 3 hours of my life tonight by trawling estate agents for fantasy houses. Evidently, my mountainous pile of work went on the backburner. 
Went so far as to inspect floor plans, criticise lay-outs and get actively and obviously annoyed when I found out...the house in question at that particular time was perfect...if only the floors didn't look like that, the tree in the garden was a little fluffier, the tax band was ridiculous and
we had £2m to drop.
Worryingly, I'm starting to do the same delusional things regarding baby clothes, schools and smug-married family holidays, so cheesy Louise and Jamie Redknapp 
would be blown the heck out of the [all-inclusive] water.