My soul mate is The Royle Family’s Denise. If I can avoid moving even an inch I will.

Need the remote? Kids! Need a drink? Kids!

Someone I know needs a lift urgently? I’ll calmly tell them to sit tight and that I’ve got it sorted. I can then take satisfaction in knowing that a taxi will be at their house in five minutes, meaning I can sleep soundly because I’ve completed my good deed for the day.

Sometimes, though, star-fishing on the carpet isn’t always an option.

“I need your help emptying the loft.”

My brother has been whining at me for years. Apparently it was my responsibility to help because I’m the only other non-asthma sufferer. I even tried to rope my 82-year-old granddad into going up (literally): “I’ll tie a skipping rope to you and we can hold it in case you fall,” I told him.

He quickly bailed on me, meaning I’d have to tear myself up from the Shelley-shaped indentation on the sofa for the afternoon.

So I headed up in my ‘work gear’ (i.e. some old tracky-bottoms I used to paint a room in several years ago, and the designated ‘doing mucky jobs top,’ which in my case is an oversized Fruit of the Loom tee I’ve had for nearly 20 years).

My tactic was to do what kids do – make such a pig’s ear of it that bro would tell me to leave in a rage, shouting something along the lines of “I’ll just do it myself!” as I feigned disappointment. Once I got up there, though, I couldn’t even muster the energy to do a terrible job.

“There’s so much stuff!” I huffed. “Can I just wait in the car while you fill it up and then drive you to the tip?”

“Start in that corner,” he ordered, pretending not to hear me. “Any rubbish, chuck it. Be brutal.”

I sighed and dragged my feet over to the corner and slouched on some old boxes – then my eyes lit up...

“Is that a swing ball?” I beamed. I perched it upright in between some bin bags and started whacking it.

“Not in here!” the boss bro yelled.

I slouched back down and ripped open the nearest liner: “It’s He-Man!” I gasped. “Oooh have you got the one in the orange kegs that smells?!

"Mam and Dad WERE telling the truth! They didn’t throw the toys out!”

I started riffling through what was the whole of Eternia in a bin bag, almost beside myself.

“Can you just start chucking things down for the tip? Clown!” The surly sibling scolded.

“No way!” I snapped as I made Battle Cat fly through the sky whilst providing my own plane noises. “I’m having these!”

I’ve never moved so fast in my life! Within 40 minutes I’d found a Stretch Armstrong and a mountain of 90s WWF figures, which sadly included a legless Undertaker.

I’ve never seen bro so happy – he got his loft clear and I got some wine for all my hard work. Now I just have to figure out where I’m going to store all these toys...