Divorced and sharing

Do you want anything from the shops? I'm just going to get one of those ready meals for when we watch the match later.

Okay. No. I'm just going watch this programme about about cars. I say cars, but that's only the superficial premise for its existence, it's actually about watching middled-aged reactionary men with beer paunches hanging over their too-tightly-belted blue jeans with iron creases running down the fronts pontificating about girls and immigrants and political correctness gone mad, while the audience - in this case, ostensibly more middle-aged men like us - sit in semi-darkness on the couch superimposing our hollow fantasies on their blank, empty faces; all the while thinking: where did our lives go wrong such that it's not them watching us on the television?

So you don't want anything?

We could do with more toilet rolls – running low, oh, and get me an eight-pack. Something cheap. You know: stuff that tastes like engine cleaner. We could do with a new kitchen sponge too – the green scourer bit is beginning to fall off.