Darling Wifey’s students have their Leavers’ Ball tonight - so the historic city of York is swamped with rented stretch limos.

And they have spent the last week pestering Darling Wifey to attend. She was, originally, reluctant…

…however, thanks to the floods turning the entire county that my school is in into an extension of the North Sea, I have been at home twiddling my thumbs all week - and as a result we both had two hours together this evening between work and the start of the party. And I believe that Darling Wifey needs more fun in her life.

So I made the Ultimate Sacrifice. I took her ‘clothes shopping.’

Women don’t understand why this is a sacrifice, so I shall explain it in simple terms - please concentrate. When a woman is choosing shoes or a dress that she will wear for 4-5 hours on one occasion only, she spends more time thinking and agonising over the choice than she did when she was asked to marry her beau, choose a house, or not use contraception this time.

She has a pathological need to compare each and every item with every other item within a square mile. And ask herself, “what does this say about me?”

I am not kidding when I say this: I gave less thought to my thesis than Darling Wifey gave to the purchase of a wrap that she will wear once.

Yes, it was worth it. When she left the house to go to the party, she was heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

But for God’s sake, ladies - when you shop with your beau, don’t criticise him for failing to be the perfect Personal Shopper. Appreciate him for the sacrifice he is making. Would you be willing to stand by him while he agonises for hours on end about the relative merits of root and screw superchargers? No - but if you did, you would expect gratitude and appreciation.

He deserves the same.

June has been a very busy month, so blogging hasn’t really been a luxury I’ve been able to indulge in.

The builders have buggered off - leaving me with the DIY job from hell: a whole house that needs painting, floors to lay, furniture to build, mirrors to fit and a garden that is in desperate need of the sort of attention that only shears and a strimmer can provide.

And Darling Wifey has been promoted by the exam board, so now has a team of examiners of her own to bully (and check up on - hence the sack-loads of marked scripts to verify arriving every other day.) Our refuge - the former playroom which was converted, last summer, into an oasis of grown-up calm and tranquility complete with candles, stones and calming music - is now an office with two enormous tables heaving under the weight of exam scripts.

But worst of all, I have discovered that I am, officially, middle-aged. I am getting Advanced Driving lessons in order to improve fuel economy; I am more productive between the hours of 6 and 11am than pm; hell, I like 6am!

How can I rebel? I have plenty rebel against, but I don’t know how any more!