I know, I know. A man isn't for keeping the drains clear. A man is for making you helpless with laughter, plying you with his latest confection-for-dinner and surprising you with fireworks in the garden on your birthday. And tracking down and buying you the old record you loved as a teenager, just because you mentioned it so wistfully ages ago when you thought he wasn't listening. (He was making mental notes, repeated like a mantra, until he could find a bit of paper.)
Helping you with your sudoku when you're stuck, but not insulting you by finishing it. And other stuff. And putting his arms round you when you've burst into tears about somebody's dog, or something.
Unsurprisingly, being reclusive isn't the best way to meet him, or get a chance to do all those things back. And I do just love being reclusive, so there we go.
I'm happy, meanwhile, to be the living example of the triumph of hope over experience.
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