Being a parent, I can sympathise with all you schizophrenics out there, because there are two Stuarts in just this one body.
The other Stu is the one who, at 8 o’clock this morning, was leaning out of the bathroom window naked (yes, again) shouting at my children who were shouting at each other and at the chickens, trying to get them back in their coop. They’d been failing in this relatively simple task for the best part of 15 shouty minutes.
One Stu is going for what should be a stimulating and enjoyable dinner after the lecture tonight, with a very smart old friend who has an intimidatingly intense job in the City.
The other spent the morning wiping egg yolk from the fridge (someone forgot to put the eggs away before they slammed the fridge door) and struggling not to swear at his children.
Only one of those people had to apologise to the aforementioned children before dropping them at school, and only one of them agreed with them that we would never speak of this morning ever again.
By the way, before anyone tries to correct me, I already know that schizophrenia is not technically the correct term for a split personality.