She doesn’t think power ballads are erotic. On a one to 10 scale of eroticness, she’s only willing to give it a four. Again she laughs in my face, this time adding that she’s got to get through the comment pages. “I think she might have been in the picture round.” We won the quiz, so at least we’re moving on to more exciting emotional territory, and she’s put down the Sunday Times. “Was she a question in the pub quiz?” my wife asks of the all-conquering Goulding. “This is really boring,” she says of the song. But history does not teach us that long pieces by Dominic Lawson are guaranteed aphrodisiacs. I mean no disrespect to those who work on comment pages. When he says ‘You deserve it,’ what does he mean? A good whipping?” Well, I ask in what I hope is a saucy manner, do you fancy a good whipping? She laughs in my face. “This is the most sexy one so far,” she observes, when she finally puts down her phone. I’m going to have to leave the propositioning for a little bit, I fear. And not to tweet about how intoxicated she is by the sheer passion of listening to the 50 Shades soundtrack on a Sunday teatime. Once we finally get the Weeknd going, she’s moved to Twitter. But those 10 minutes have been deadly: my wife’s evidently lost interest in the erotic journey and is more interested in whether she can now use Spotify on her mobile phone. I’m pretty sure we were on the brink of something. Sadly, getting the code working takes 10 minutes. Tiring of the ads in the Spotify playback I decide to upgrade to premium. I rather kill the momentum at this point.
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