Doesn’t time fly when you’re enjoying yourself? I think, when I hear that our coalition government is already one year old.

It just seems yesterday that the happy couple were toasting a fruitful future together and yet already here we are, with all the teething troubles and sleepless nights that so often accompany a first birthday.

Poor old Nick is looking particularly shell-shocked.

And even Dave must be feeling a bit uneasy.

If Nick picks up his toys and toddles off now, Dave’s mates will be more than rattled. So, just calm down dears and enjoy your anniversary. And if you want to convince us all of how lucky we are to have been ConDem’d for the past year, how about bribing us shamelessly with a few birthday presents?

A few more of those three-day weeks, for a start.

They’ve gone down very well, especially now they’re fully paid and with a side serving of Mediterranean summer weather.

You never got that in the old days. Never mind Gordon’s idea of an extra bank holiday in October – how wet was that?

No, your four-day bank holiday arrangement with the Mervyn King and the Met Office is an absolute blinder.

Some more of those in June, July and August, please. Brilliant.

I never thought I’d say this, but another royal wedding would be good, too.

Like many people who eschewed the lead-up to the big day, when it came to it I wandered downstairs in my nightie at half past ten for a cup of tea and a strawberry jam scone (one of my five a day) and accidentally stepped on the TV remote.

For about seven hours I lay on the sofa studying lace sleeves, clever camera shots, curtsies, naughty horses, and marvelled at how the other half live – the loyal subjects who would get up at 4am to bag a place among one million others and stand for hours, instead of reclining on some cushions and occasionally decamping to the fridge for a bit more clotted cream. Bliss.

On a more serious note, I’d like you to make DIY illegal. Your research may tell you that the demise of our family unit and the increase in road rage is down to a complex interaction of various socio-demographic factors, but I can tell you that Homebase and B&Q play an ominous role as well.

Imagine, Nick and Dave, that in this green and pleasant land of ours there are couples who stand together and nod and smile fixedly and one of them may even say, yes, I agree with you, but as soon as the assistant in the wood-cutting department has turned to slice up their £55 sheet of timber the woman voices her serious reservations about the man’s measuring techniques and ability to calculate areas in his head and the man replies that if it’s that easy, she should do it herself.

That’s the whole point! She doesn’t believe in doing it yourself! You don’t make your own cars, or houses, or choux pastry (unless you’re very talented), so why would you make your own cupboard or desk? There are carpenters and Swedish factories to do that.

And they’ll do it much faster.

I can guarantee that if you come home armed with some flat packs and an Allen key you will be able to turn it into a piece of furniture by the end of the night. I’m not saying it will stay up for long, but it will be a recognisable bit of furniture.

I can also guarantee that if you come home with a large piece of wood that has at your request been reduced to planks, you will go upstairs, shout “damn… I should have written down centimetres!”, and the entire family will learn to step over those planks in the hall until the point in about two years’ time when no one really notices they are there any more.

I expect you get a lot of that at Ten Downing Street, as well. It could even be why you both seem to be tripping up more.

So take my advice. Party like it’s spring 2011 and screw the screwdriver.

You know it makes sense.