I found my parents’ ancient set of Scrabble in our loft the other day – the box (which boasts New Plastic Tiles!) endlessly repaired with yellowed sellotape. Inside was a record of all the scores of all the games they’d ever played. Forty two years of unarmed combat! One day my Dad, convinced of his supremacy, did the maths and totted up the figures. Result: 60,900 to him and a resounding, trouncing 63,283 to my mum.

That’s an awful lot of words.

That’s the portrait of a marriage, in miniature.

That’s the germ of a short story, surely? Think of a metaphor for your own relationship, and set to work…