Don't know about you, but I was cold in bed last night.
So much so that, this morning - after a quick 10 minutes in the microwave set to defrost - I declared that it was time for the winter duvet.
I didn't regard this as a particularly controversial comment, (an icicle falling from my nose onto my shivering feet as I forced the words out through chattering teeth).
But Vanessa saw things differently.
"We can't put the winter duvet on yet!" she spat (her spit freezing in mid-air before bouncing off the kitchen window)
"Why not?" I replied, genuinely baffled.
"Because if we put it on now, we'll not feel the benefit in January."
Seriously, sometimes I wonder what that woman sprinkles on her porridge.
If I have many more nights like last night I suspect I'll not be here in January. Plus, they say snow is already on its way (well, Chris Evans said and he knows people).
So tonight I'm climbing up that drop-down ladder, I'm going into that loft and I shall re-emerge clutching our winter duvet. And then I'm sleeping under it.
Vanessa Frost can snuggle down under a cigarette paper for all I care, because I'm not sharing.