I nodded, silently, and then decided: tonight would be the night I'd test the waters. And twenty minutes later, I'm yelling, 'I can explain!'

'Look,' she says, the next morning. 'I don't mind if you want to wear pyjamas. I just wish you'd given me some warning. It was a bit of a shock.'

I am still wearing them and eating a bowl of Coco Pops.

'I'm so sorry,' I say. 'It won't happen again.'

But I know it will. Because I have become an addict. How could I have been blind to them all these years? Why had I not seen the signs earlier? My dad was virtually born in pyjamas. When did it become socially unacceptable for a man to wear formal nightwear? Have pyjamas gone the way of pipes and monocles? I'd look great, all dressed up in my pyjamas with a pipe and a couple of monocles! We all would! Why, then, do they bring such shame upon us? Why do our womenfolk frown upon us so? Maybe they just need to see us in our pyjamas to realise the comfort, the joy, the pleasure they bring! Maybe they will want their own. And if they do, we should be kind. We should simply pat them, patronisingly, on their heads, and say, 'There is no need to explain.'

I keep my pyjamas on all day. It is my own kind of protest. Maybe this is what I will do, I think, as I wander around the house, liberated. Maybe I will wear pyjamas during the day, and change into more appropriate clothing when she gets home. But I resent having to go underground with this.

At half past six, though, I get changed into jeans and a T-shirt.

My wife is a little late home. Perhaps she's stopped off for a drink with her friends, I think. To come to terms with things. Settle her nerves. I've come out of the closet, wearing a little pair of pyjamas, after all, and this kind of thing can have an effect on the unenlightened.

When she arrives home, things are a little stilted.

'Hello,' I say.

'Hello,' she says.

She puts her bags down and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

'I just got a couple of microwave meals from M&S,' she says. 'Is that OK?'

'That's great,' I say.

There's an awkward moment.

I look in the bag.

She's bought herself a little pair of pyjamas.

'I can explain!' she says.

'There is no need,' I say, patting her on the head. 'There is no need.'

HEROES

I am sitting outside a cafe in the sun with my friend Rich when we spot a giant, lolloping man harassing strangers. He is sidling up to them and then shouting in their faces, madly.