She reckons men are driven largely towards the goal of doing nothing. This is why the (male) CEOs of big companies have huge, echoing offices. They sit at large empty desks and give orders for other people to carry out the actual work. Women on the other hand, she said, are compelled to "do" everything. So that when we said that we wanted it 'all' - what we actually got 'all' of was the work. Germaine Greer said that. Not me. I wouldn't dream of denigrating the very important role men play in our society: the invaluable, essential contribution they make in the home and in the workplace. (Cough. ) However, I do agree that, generally speaking, women appear compelled to "do". While children have to be washed and houses hoovered, what my life is plagued with is the "doing" of things that I do not really need to be doing. The stuff which once I take the time to stop and examine it is just pointless activity. I have a job - writing stuff - and it keeps me busy. Then I have a husband, a son, a house and various family commitments. That's enough - you would think - to keep a woman nicely occupied with perhaps a little time to lounge around in the evenings and weekends. If only I could leave it at that, instead of always trying to stuff more in; instead of always having to be "doing" something.

I'm not going to pretend I am one of these marvellous people who sits on tons of committees and is running around visiting hospices and organising fundraisers. Who hasn't got time to brush her hair because one of her seven foster children has stuffed a towel down the toilet and flooded the house. The "doing" fuel that keeps me in perpetual motion is stupid tittle-tattle. Queuing in Lidl for cheap Yoga equipment, tidying cutlery drawers, sourcing un-needed and faddish cooking accessories.

The annoying thing is I have an endless list of valid things which would keep me busy for every moment of the rest of my life which I never get around to - tidying the garden, learning Irish, shampooing the dog - and yet I volunteer myself for all this extra-curricular pottering nonsense as if I were a lady of leisure.

Of course, it is all propelled by guilt. Last summer I decided to "do camping" for my fiveyear-old. I built him a fully functioning campsite in the field next door - working kitchen, play area, sleeping tent - the works. He sat resolutely in front of the television while I strung trees with homemade bunting like a mad person.

It's a form of neurosis. For the past year we've been talking about getting a kitchen extension so we can expand our eating and cooking areas. On analysis I have realised all we will achieve is to create even more space for me to waste my time pointlessly moving things around in. I don't need a "walk-in larder" to house even more obscure tinned goods and, if I get one, it will need converting into a padded cell within six months. In fact, I am seriously considering throwing out every piece of kitchen equipment I have apart from the Breville and the kettle, and feeding my family on toasted sandwiches, tea and takeaways for the next 10 years. That way I can train myself to lie on the couch with a pizza box on my belly watching Eastenders for hours. CEO of my own sofa at last - just like Germaine's dream guy.