Who needs a life coach when you've got a six-year-old that know absolutely everything?
It must be great being six and knowing everything.
Personally, I'm 38, still bumbling through life like a clueless clot, desperately trying to learn as I go and still largely winging it.
When I was six the entire world consisted purely of hide and seek, Star Wars figures and making poo jokes.
Not for my eldest, Poppy.
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Apparently she knows exactly where I'm going wrong and would sort my chaotic life out in the blink of an eye.
Take, for example, me moaning at the wife about whether we could afford to buy a new car.
Poppy, exasperated at my endless worrying, chimes in.
"Oh Daddy. Why don't you just buy a new car? "It's easy. I'll buy it. How much is a new car?
"Is it ... er, 12 pounds? Thirtyten pounds?
"I can buy it for you Daddy."
And here's the killer line:
"There's no need to moan so much, Daddy, just do it."
Sadly, the car ended up costing more than thirtyten pounds, blowing Poppy's offer of financial assistance out of the water.
Still, that doesn't seem to have dented her complete self-confidence.
Cue my next dilemma.
Trying to work out why my midriff seems to be filling out faster than Felix Baumgartner's nappy when he stepped out of his helium balloon, Poppy wasn't pulling any punches.
"Daddy you're fat because you don't go to the gym any more," she stung, venomous critic that she is.
"And you don't eat enough fruit or vetegabables. We did it in class. You have to eat five vetegabables a day.
"Maybe even tomatoes."
So, within the space of a week she's sorted my transport and health issues.
I'm starting to think she should set herself up as a miniature life coach.
Stupid rich people will pay silly money for pointless advice from people who don't know what they're talking about.
Some numpties will believe anything you say as long as you say it with enough confidence.
And that's how Poppy solved that perennial gripe thousands of us hold, namely "why am I always skint?".
The conversation went something like this:
"Daddy, can I have this, this, that, this, that and that for Christmas?"
"Silly Daddy." Imagine a pouty lip and clenched fists at this point.
"Why can't I have them? Ooh, and this one, too."
"Because I can't afford them, you spoilt little monkey. They all cost a lot of money and I don't have it."
Silence. Then, after a few seconds, a dim light bulb goes on somewhere in her six-year-old's head.
"I know Daddy," she says breathlessly, as if she's just discovered the equation for cold fusion.
"You can get a new job that gives you more money then you can have a new car and buy me all the presents I want. It's easy."
To be fair, it is genius. I wonder why it had never occurred to me.