The shoes I chose to wear today were not actually all that pretty, or extraordinary in any way other than that they are rather high, which is why I picked them. You see I was wearing long, figure-hugging jeans that were crying out for a bit of heel; in truth, I thought some elongation would help to give the illusion of slimness (well, it was my first day back to our usual shopping haunts and I wanted to look as slim as possible for the occasion).

So there I was – nearly six feet tall in my platform sandals – in our favourite Tesco store at Newton Abbot; yes, I may have been tottering a little but it didn’t matter because I had the trolley in front of me to prevent me from falling over (although the escalator going back down to the ground floor was quite terrifying). As per usual, every so often Chris put his arm around my waist while I pushed the trolley – we always feel very connected when we go shopping together. Having already selected a bag of petit pois and put it in a cold-bag in the trolley, we were still standing beside the frozen vegetables freezer cabinet when Chris slipped his arm around me again (well, it is cold in the frozen food sector).

“You’re a very tall wife today,” Chris said, “but not as tall as me…” And he drew himself up to his full height.

I squeezed his arm and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I like tall women,” he began and added, “At least, I like you tall.”

Over by the bakery we stopped to squeeze the tiger-loaves. I could feel Chris’s eyes watching me as I walked along the row of bread racks.

“I feel much sexier wearing high heels,” I said softly in his ear as I bent forward to place a loaf in the trolley.

“I wish you would wear them to bed,” he whispered back.