Skinless sausages

Tonight, the fragrant Mrs Colin broke the news to me that, for the past sixteen months, she has been conducting a sordid affair with a lesbian trapeze artist from Lithuania, and wishes to divorce me in order to set up home with Flavia (for that is her name) in Croydon, where they will live in contortionist sapphic sin with each other.

Fortunately, however, we had skinless sausages and mashed potato for supper. My favourite. Mrs Colin makes superb mashed potato, and her skinless sausages are always just the right side of burnt.