But there is still this feeling of slight frostiness as she gets up and puts her clothes on. This is strange. My wife is never frosty. We rarely argue. And yet it really feels like I've done something bad. But still she insists nothing is wrong.

It is only later, as she peers angrily out of the window of a local restaurant, that she reveals the source of her annoyance.

'I had a dream,' she says. 'And in it, you were such a ... berk.'

I blink a couple of times.

'A berk?' I say. 'How was I a berk?'

A waitress arrives to take our order. We fall silent and study the menu for a second. But all I can think of is that I've somehow been a berk. A big, nocturnal berk.

'We were in the supermarket,' she seethes, as the waitress disappears to the kitchen. 'And I was just watching you, as you piled carrot after carrot into the shopping trolley. And I was like, "What's with all the carrots?" And you just replied, "I want carrots."'

'"I want carrots"?'

'Yes. That's all you said. "I want carrots." And you just continued to pile them into the trolley. And I said, "That's too many carrots." And you said, "No. I want fourteen carrots."'

'Fourteen?' I say, wondering how I'm going to get out of this one. 'Why did I want fourteen carrots?'

'Aha! Exactly!' she says, like she's finally caught me out and I've admitted it. 'No one wants fourteen carrots! There is not one recipe in the world that requires fourteen carrots!'

'Well, maybe it was more than one recipe!' I say, defensively, though I'm not sure why. 'Or maybe I just wanted to nibble on some while I played Xbox. You know I like nibbling on carrots while I play Xbox!'

'You didn't once mention Xbox or nibbling. You just said you wanted fourteen carrots and then continued to pile them into the trolley despite my sensible protestations.'

I struggle to come up with an adequate defence. I have clearly crossed a line here.

'Well, maybe I was planning on surprising you!'

'With fourteen carrots?'

'Yes! And you spoilt that surprise! And at least carrots are part of my five-a-day! It could have been worse. It could have been Twixes. Or packets of Wheat Crunchies.'

'It was carrots' she hisses. 'Too many carrots.'

There is another frosty moment of silence. I look out of the window, hurt, but then I notice a funny dog and everything's OK again.

'And the worst thing was,' she continues, 'the organic ones were only in the next section.'

'Eh?'

'I kept saying, "The organic ones are just there!", but oh no, you just kept arrogantly piling the non-organic, bright orange ones into the trolley.'

There is nothing I can say to this.