I was sort of hovering in the kitchen, debating the relative merits of white wine vs slightly stale prawn crackers (part of a much wider debate currently raging between liquids and solids) when Stuart rang.
"How are you babe?"
"Having a dilemma. What do you think, white wine or prawn crackers?"
"Isn't it 10am with you? It's just a suggestion, but hold off the wine for another two hours at least."
"But, if you were to open a bottle of wine now as well, then that would have us drinking at the same time. Which would take some of the stigma of drinking at breakfast off me. Somewhat."
A pause in which I could tell he was trying not to roll his eyes.
"No. So what are you doing?"
"Trying to open this bottle. You have any idea how hard it is trying to use a corkscrew and hold a phone?"
"And carry out a conversation at the same time?"
"Don't be rude."
"Hang on, since when were there prawn crackers in my flat?"
"I'm not at yours, I'm at my mothers. It's great fun."
"Really?"
"No. I'm hungry. And I can't open this bottle."
"Why aren't you at the flat, eating real food?"
"Because I don't live in your flat."
"You were too living there until a few nights ago."
"Non, I was visiting until a few nights ago. As a guest. That's different from living; the first implies sex, the second committment and wardrobe space."
"I guess I can clear out a few shelves."
"Now why would you do that?"
"I'm not entirely sure; I think it has something to do with wanting sex five nights out of seven."

My boyfriend. What a charmer.