Last night, to test a claim that quicker and easier is always better, I embarked on an experiment: to have the most efficient evening of my life.

Ordinarily I do bathtime with my son before reading him a bedtime story, so he was confused when I hastily scrubbed him with a wet wipe and slotted him into his pyjamas in under a minute. Then, instead of picking a storybook, I had an ingenious idea: I read him a tweet instead, dumped him in his crib and shut the door.

Next, I sat at the piano to play some music and relax a little, but the Bach on the stand — while rewarding to learn — wasn't exactly easy, so I drowned out my son's howling with a brief rendition of chopsticks, before heading to the bar cart to fix a drink.

In the interests of brevity I snatched the first bottle I saw, but rather than savoring Macallan’s finest as one normally would, I glugged it straight from the bottle instead.

When we retired for the evening I made ardent love to my wife for eight seconds, then — as she gazed unlovingly into my eyes — I gave her the awesome news. We would not be visiting her family in Europe for our usual holiday next year. Siri had found me a hotel two blocks from home. An Uber could get us there in a minute.

My net detractor score has never been higher.

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