Mrs Receding Hairline and I are seriously considering buying a car, which has me almost micturating with excitement. At the end of the discussion, during which we'd um'd and ah'd about the pros and cons of spending what is in reality a paltry sum on a second-hand hatchback, we fell to justifying the purchase to ourselves. Finally, I made the point that our wedding had been so cheap (case in point: the bride's dress was bought in Jigsaw for £110) and we'd been such well-behaved little Thatcherites – school, uni, jobs with no gap years or other life-enhancing fripperies – that we were in some way due a bit of middle-class, twenty-something expenditure.

“I mean, how much does yer actual wedding cost these days,” I asked.

“Can be twenty grand,” she replied. “Which is frankly ridiculous. I mean, I know you get a nice day, but how nice can a day be? For twenty grand, I'd want a day of continuous orgasm. And I wouldn't want to get all dressed up and have to be polite and gracious. I'd want to lie in a hotel room, farting and watching films, and being fed rare delicacies. Or actually, have the actors themselves come in and act out scenes from the films.”

Amen, sister.

EDIT She has just opined that she'd like a rooftop jacuzzi for in between the orgasms. But, ever the logical male, I pointed out that with a continuous orgasm, there's be no ‘in between’; if it were a continual orgasm, there would. She just gave me a funny look, suggested instead that the jacuzzi could be to round off the day, and went back to reading her book. Le sigh.