I need to start off by explaining something: I hate mornings, and I hate yoga. Or at least, I did. Because it turns out, in this instance at least, that two negatives make a positive.

So, here’s the story: despite my rather expensive orthopedic pillow, I wake up most mornings feeling like I’ve been drawn by Picasso – all the right bits, but in the wrong places. For years, I’ve known that really I should start my day with a good, thorough stretch (a million doctors and masseurs have told me so), but I could never seem to find a way to work it into my hectic morning schedule of running around like a headless chicken. 

Then the pandemic hit, and suddenly my commute involved walking from my bedroom to the living room. I realised this was my opportunity.