Greg wanted a solid silver toast rack.

Kate did not want a toast rack, any toast rack.

The pearled octogenarian stood in front of them holding a 183 gram, solid silver, four-slice Edwardian toast rack. One wanted to purchase it, the other wanted to leave the shop and have an argument about how much they didn’t need to purchase it.

That wasn’t the end, or even the beginning of the end, but it was something, and there was an end…

‘Where’s the coffee?’ asked Kate.

Greg pointed to the cupboard above the sink. ‘In the bespoke Victorian hand painted ceramic coffee caddy.’

Kate was perfectly content with the foe chrome airtight canister from IKEA and didn’t appreciate the coffee’s new home.

‘Jesus Greg. You can’t just keep buying crap.’

‘It’s not crap. I’m trying to buy quality.’

‘Quality? This hasn’t been airtight for 100 years. And while we’re on the subject of stuff we don’t need why do we have a new toaster?’ asked Kate, stabbing her finger towards the titanium box on the kitchen bench.

‘It has five different settings for muffins and eight for crumpets.’

‘We don’t eat muffins or crumpets.’

‘But now we can. Perfect ones.’

Kate jabbed a finger towards another new acquisition. ‘And why do we have a German crystal wine decanter when you don’t spend more than two quid on a bottle of anything?’

‘It’s not like you don’t spend money.’

‘On what?’

‘How many pairs of shoes do you own?’

‘That’s different. I’m a woman. I need shoes.’

‘Well, if you can have shoes I can have Japanese stainless steel egg cups.’

‘Japanese egg cups!’ shouted Kate. ‘This has to stop Greg. Last week you bought a Victorian pencil sharpener in the shape of a Scots Terrier for God’s sake.’

‘So?’

‘You hate dogs and when was the last time you used a pencil?’

Kate hadn’t had her morning coffee and wasn’t in her calm place.

‘You just don’t get it do you Kate?’

Kate glared at Greg for several seconds before jerking the cord from the wall and drop-kicking the toaster across the kitchen. She broke her toe and screamed at the instant the toaster bounced off Greg’s head into the decanter.

When Greg regained consciousness he was lying among 126 shards of exquisite Teutonic craftsmanship, his head felt like a child’s paddling pool full of apricot yoghurt and he wasn’t having muffins, crumpets or red wine for breakfast.

Greg hauled himself up and spotted the note written in pencil stuck to the fridge.

Ha!

You are dumped Greg.

Greg’s shopping list of replacement items was getting longer.

Half an hour later Greg placed an egg into a stainless steel egg cup and dropped two lumps of sugar into a mug using a pair of elegantly designed but uneconomical Danish sugar tongs as he contemplated Kate’s inexplicable behaviour.

Pity the toaster was broken.

He had a lovely 183 gram, solid silver, four-slice Edwardian toast rack.