This post may contain Too Much Information for some...
Last night, having watched The Royle Family and the Blackadder Documentary, Jimmy declared it was time to go to bed. I agreed.
Unfortunately, we are well past the stage of just rushing upstairs. I decided to run all the greasy plates etc under the hot tap to make the job of washing up easier when I get round to it. He decided to fold up the dining table and put it away. I asked him to lock-up back and front whilst I extinguished candles.
"Right, I'm definitely off to bed, now," he said.
"So I am, but I do have to put fresh bedding on..."
"Shall I help you?" he asked.
"Don't worry, by the time you've faffed around, I'll have done it anyway. You get on with shaving and all those other things that men do before a shag and I'll have the bedding done!" I said.
"I think I'll do the hoovering!" he declared. And proceeded to get out the vacuum cleaner (actually, a Dyson) and vacuum the downstairs carpet.
I asked him what he would think if he read in a newspaper problem page "Dear Deirdre, everytime I suggest a bit of whatsit to my partner, he starts vacuuming downstairs..."
He replied, there's a lot of weirdos out there...
What actually happened post-vacuuming/bedding-changing is a matter of conjecture, as far as you're concerned.
