The other night, as I fought and tore and wrenched myself closer to the 30000 word mark, my husband came over, bringing me a cup of tea. He stood behind my chair and I leaned my head back against his manly solar plexus and sighed. He stroked my hair.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
I waved my hand vaguely at the word-count widget.
‘I miss you, you know, in the evenings,’ said my husband, wistfully.
I smiled. How sweet of him.
‘Of course,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘I miss the computer too.’
