I prepared to be underwhelmed, but Caravaggio’s Cupid pierced my heart

I only went because I was on my way to Oxford and it was near the station. I’m a busy woman; you can’t get me to a gallery just to show me three things. Still, I had time to spare so I schlepped to the Wallace Collection to see Caravaggio’s Cupid. That was the whole show: one painting, two Roman statues.

I prepared to be underwhelmed; I called it wrong. As someone who spends a frankly grotesque amount of time looking at art, I’ve become arguably too used to walking around, glancing at piece after piece after piece, thinking “good”, “great”, “ugh”, “fine”.

This minimalist display forced me to stop for a moment and really take it in. The sculptures, lustful and gleaming, complemented each other beautifully. The Cupid was remarkable; looking at us, humanity, with arrogant glee. Of all the details, my favourite was the feather from his wing resting lightly – invitingly? – on his pale thigh. I probably would have missed it, had the painting been only one of many in a larger show.

Playing Hades II over the break has been reminding me of a similar life lesson: sometimes, less really can be more. The video game, a recently released sequel to much-loved Hades, takes place in the underworld of Greek mythology.

Crucially, it’s of a genre that can be hard to sell to people. In “roguelikes”, the only way to win the game is to play it from beginning to end in one go. There are no wild wide worlds to discover, or endless new levels to try to conquer. Instead, it requires you to do the same thing again and again until you perfect it. It’s not for everyone, but I’ve grown to adore it.

Somehow, there’s something quite primally soothing about the endless repetition. It makes you feel safe and in control of your universe. There’s no need to rush or worry you’re missing out – you can just focus on what is in front of you, safe in the knowledge it won’t ever change.

Speaking of comfort zones: I had such a delicious hangover earlier this month. It happened at that stage of December when it feels like surely you won’t be able to finish all your work on time before the beginning of the break. I was exhausted and had been feeling increasingly restless and anxious, both for good and trifling reasons.

I went out to some silly drinks, which I was convinced I wouldn’t enjoy, and had planned to leave after around half an hour. I did stay for half an hour, then for another one after that, and again until I wound up in a pizza place at 10pm, demolishing a fiorentina by myself.

I woke up the next day without pain but without the ability to think either. The inside of my skull had been filled to the brim with candyfloss. No matter how hard I tried to panic about the mountain of work I had to do, I just couldn’t get exercised about it. I’d reached some kind of nirvana.

Amazingly, that lazy day somehow reset my mind and lowered my stress levels for the rest of that week. Does this mean I’ll now remember to stop and rest and breathe for a while, instead of endlessly rushing like there’s no tomorrow? Pah! Don’t be daft.

Photograph by Carl Court/Getty Images