‘To my colleagues, especially my boss, Angela, I know I whinge about the mundaneness of working on a local paper, but there are worse jobs, right? I mean, we could be off manually masturbating caged animals for artificial insemination. Although . . .’ I gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling, as though reconsidering the merits of this option.

My workmates let out an irreverent whoop of support.

‘And now, the biggest thank you of all, to my husband Harry. Harry has put up with my annoying ways at close range. And, miraculously, he still loves me, despite my dreadful cooking. I keep waiting for the hallucinatory drugs to wear off, but no. Even after the night I grabbed the very first package in the freezer for dinner, which turned out to be pet mince. Mind you, there’ve been some positive results from this “minor” culinary disaster. My husband now sits when commanded and fetches my slippers. Just don’t judge him when he cocks his leg on a tree, okay?’

‘It’s puppy love!’ Harry heckled, affectionately, from the audience.

‘But, seriously, Harry, thank you for putting up with me for all these years. Can you come a little closer?’ I beckoned him.

Harry pushed through the small crowd to the foot of the stage. He wasn’t venturing any further, not after last time. So, I knelt down and pressed my face into his messy hair, tenderly kissing the top of his head.

‘Harry says that all we need is a marital tune-up, like an emotional oil and grease change. Harry, darling, thanks for standing by me and for helping me raise our two wonderful children, and for offering to renew our marriage vows . . . Thank you, my love. Thanks, but . . .’ I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was no longer a cowardly custard pissant procrastinator. ‘But, no thanks.’

A surprised gasp echoed through the crowd, followed by a sinking feeling of deja vu. For a moment, all I could hear was the murmur of the sea on the rocks outside as the day died through the big glass windows.

‘It’s stating the obvious, but when your last parent dies, there’s no buffer left between you and lights out. I mean, can you hear that beating sound? Times’s winged chariot, folks. You suddenly realise that tempus is fugit-ing like there’s no tomorrow. When Harry asked me to retie the marital knot, I was so deeply touched . . . until I realised that the knot would be around my neck.’

I looked down at my bewildered husband and smiled compassionately.