My wife came home from work and flopped into a chair, exhausted.
"Darling," I said. "When was the last time I ran you a bath with scented candles, gave you a massage and tucked you up in bed with a glass of cold champagne?"
"Never," she replied.
"Exactly," I said. "Get in the fucking kitchen and cook my dinner."
My speed date asked me if I was into conspiracy theories.
"Well, so-so," I replied
"That's a pity," she responded. "I couldn't sleep with a man who didn't love them. Second question, who is your favourite Royal?"
"Prince Trevor," I said. "He's the one they don't talk about."