DP is a 'neat' eater. Occasionally sneezes, never burps or belches, never scratches his arse or nads, is perfect company at a fancy do. We'd been dating for a while, but hadn't spent the weekend together before - it had all been perfect, romantic breakfasts of fruit and yoghurt with edible flowers in the bright sunshine of a perfect summer, cool breeze wafting the white voiles as though we were filming a 70s ballad, birdsong, bees humming - proper Instagram worthy living for the only time in our lives.
And then, instead of the usual thing of his holding me in his arms whilst I drifted off to sleep, he went to sleep first as we'd obviously been shagging each other's brains out for the last 48 hours.
I swear that man played the second part of the 20th Century Fox fanfare with his arse.
It didn't wake him up, no - what woke him up was the feeling as though there was an earthquake, as I was laughing so hard, the entire bed shook.
Since then, I now know exactly the point at which he's going to sleep, as it's usually announced by his internal bugler. And i still laugh.