Lately, I have been going without – without food, without sex, without much alcohol. “Is there a point to life at all, then?” I hear you ask, and: “Shouldn’t you just be boring old ‘mum’ instead of Drunken Slut Mum, in that case?”

Don’t worry, readers, I haven’t joined some kind of a strict religious sect where all the above are forbidden. I am having a go at ‘that diet’ which requires one to fast two days a week and simply going through a shagging dry spell.

And it’s pretty tough – maybe food without sex would be bearable or even sex without food – if I get to lie down for some of it – but neither is not a good place to be. How does one cope with enforced chastity? Not in the sense of becoming a nun and making a lifelong commitment, just if things aren’t happening in that area at the moment?

And masturbation is off the table too – either because one’s batteries have died and one cannot be bothered going ‘manual’ or because one is testing willpower. Is it possible to divert attention away, entirely, from genital pleasure?

I thought I had found the answer in going for a run – using up pent-up energy, getting sweaty and out of breath and reaping the benefits of a good cardio workout. But no, I have discovered that after a run, despite feeling tired, I get a raging horn and would ideally jump on The Man or perhaps pleasure myself. Apparently this is because exercise increases testosterone levels, which in turn raises our libido.

So how about eating vast quantities of chocolate and drinking wine while lying on a sofa watching a film? Good on the surface, but each cancels the other out – chocolate is good, as it releases the happy drug serotonin and apparently gives similar levels of pleasure as sex (but I would probably need a ginormous bar of the stuff), but wine makes one relax and feel a bit randy if not enough is consumed and, depending on the film, one may feel a little bereft if it ends with a loved-up couple.

Another alternative could be a frantic spring clean of the house. Surely all that scrubbing, dusting and vacuuming is enough to stay busy and keep levels of desire right down. Well, it certainly takes the mind off anything fun, but motivation to actually do it tends to wane. It may be just me, but if I have spent an hour or so cleaning the bathroom, I really can’t be bothered moving on to another room and cleaning it from top to bottom. Maybe I’m a filthy slut, but cleaning the house when no one is coming round to help me mess it up again seems pretty pointless. I also live with two small people who soon return it to a dishevelled mess.

So how to cope with a neglected lady hole? Lie down and stare at the ceiling? Cross one’s legs and grit one’s teeth? Rock back and forth in foetal position, humming quietly? Bake some cupcakes? Get real! Thank God for the invention of vibrators and dildos!