An hour later, I realise the film has only been on for five minutes. I am so bored. Not because I am a boy and therefore stereotypically predisposed to another genre of film altogether, but because where is the character development of, say, Jumper? In Jumper, there were also explosions, and a bit where he ends up on a pyramid. So far, not one of these events has happened in Sex and the City.

But I must remain quiet. Tonight is not the night for remarks of this ilk.

I pour myself another huge glass of wine, and silently seethe, as one of the characters makes a sassy remark to one of the other characters about being single or something. My wife seems to be quietly enjoying the film. I swig my wine and think about how many points this must be scoring me, and marvel at the sacrifice I am making. I suppose I am a little like Jesus in this respect, and especially tonight, because tonight The World's Most Amazing Videos is on Bravo. Maybe I could suggest a little break in order to watch The World's Most Amazing Videos, I think. But no. That is not what Jesus would do. Jesus would watch Sex and the City with my wife.

I take another gulp of wine and try and coneentrate on what's happening. I have no idea what's going on, and worse, there seems to be no resolution in sight. I am just watching a series of events, one after the other, involving women talking to each other about various things. At least in Jumper, there were gentlemen and ladies, plus they could teleport. I look over at my wife. Her eyelids seem heavy. She clearly feels the same way I do. But it is not my place to suggest watching Jumper again. I will wait for her to do this.

And then Carrie hits a man with some flowers, and I am shocked into paying more attention, because this is the most action I've seen so far. The flowers explode into the air, and there is shouting, and confusion ...

My wife wakes up as the film is coming to an end, what seems like mere moments later. I am staring at the screen and have a newfound respect for Edith Bowman.

'How long have I been asleep?' she asks, and then, 'What's happened to all the wine? Have you been crying?'

I make a disgusted face and swig the last of a second bottle.

'No, I have not been doing that!' I slur. 'And if I had they would've been tears of boredom! Not tears of joy and an aching pain!'

I look away, and pretend to be studying my phone, but realise it is a remote control and there is not much on it to study.

My wife looks confused and goes to bed.

I open another bottle and stay up and watch the extras.

YOGA