We have a disagreement.

"You make me out to be a right whinger!"

I deny this vehemently, stung by the unreasonable accusation.

"Yes you do! I only ever appear when I'm going on at you or complaining about something," she complains.

Honestly. I could construct a whole career on writing about the things the LTLP and I argue about.

"Yes, but the whole point is that you are quite a normal person," I explain. "And as I write about the frequently tragic episodes in my life, they tend to be the times when any reasonable person would be having a go at me."

She does not look convinced.

"The readers aren't stupid. They have a lot of sympathy for that," I continue, optimistically reflecting on the selection of circus freaks that inhabit the comments box. "After all - well - I... I can be a bit of a fuckwit occasionally."

I am quite big on self-analysis these days.

I resolve to respect her wishes this year and write positive things about her. I know that she is sensitive to being featured, but I never talk about our sex life or her ballooning weight problem or anything that would be discourteous.

She makes a harrumphing noise and returns to The Da Vinci Code.