If I were a man of a pre-feminist generation, with a wife to provide my meals and clean my house and bring up my children, perhaps I would have a free mind for the large thought, the unlimited plan; and free time for night work, for hours without the necessity to think ahead about trivia—will we have veal for dinner or will I send the girls out for Lebanese take-away? Will the dog be lonely all day? Why didn’t I defrost the fridge before I went to the market? Or is my mind slack and small for other reasons?