My suspicions were first raised when I was presented with a plate, in my own home, piled high with what can only be described as foliage mixed with foliage. I called immediately for TaiTai, who bounced in wearing some pink lycra ensemble that made her look more like a Power Ranger than my wife.
She assured me that the leaves were for me and, no, our cook had not become distracted while doing the gardening. Apparently we were spring cleaning after the Christmas season. I asked her why the maid could not do it for us.
After a heated debate, in which TaiTai spoke a lot while I tried to remember whether the brie in the kitchen would be ripe enough to eat yet, she flounced off, shouting something about training for the Hong Kong marathon and wanting to neutralise free radicals. Now, I’m all for the downfall of radicals, but it sounded to me as if she was on the verge of becoming one herself.
I mentioned to a chum in the club that my wife had gone mad and he looked a little sheepish. I was about to top up his glass and pass him another cigar when I noticed the background on his iPhone showed a snap of himself – scantily clad, exposing his bulging muscles and racing across the Hong Kong marathon finish line.
I said nothing, but picked up both cigars and wandered off to sit in an armchair. Alone.