Very occasionally, I do stuff that shocks Aimée. So really, this post is about the look on her face when I do something that I don’t consider unusual, but is, apparently, noteworthy – bordering on crazy.

For example, when I was little, we always had a feather-duster. It was used to flap away/scoop up cobwebs, dust and household detritus. You might imagine that I’m over-explaining the use of a feather-duster, but I now realise that there are people who only ever use a vacuum cleaner for these things, and the very idea of a slightly fluffy stick is kind of out there.

Shops that used to have whole walls covered in feather-dusters, all different colours, all manner of sizes, have either closed down or changed their range to cover more scented candles than anything else.

As such, I haven’t been able to find a feather-duster for love nor money since 1997. But it doesn’t matter. For the last twenty-two years, I have just taken the long-handled broom, flipped it over my head and swept the ceiling.

First time Aimée saw me do that, she looked like she’d made a dreadful mistake moving in with me.