A couple of thousand other things have occurred to me since posting.
Toilet Rolls. I replaced the old holder, yet, every single time I go in there after a roll has run out, the replacement has been got down from the high shelf and carefully placed either on top of the towel rail, two foot further away from the toilet than the the holder or, worse still, is left sitting on the cistern, so I have to do a full 180 to find it with a spine that doesn't think twisting is something it should do.
He puts the bath mat on the floor. I pick it up and drape it over the side of the bath as a) I don't trust the DTwatCats, b) I prefer it to be dry when I need to use it and c) it hides dust when it's on the floor. I go in there again and the bath mat is back on the floor with a suspicious damp patch that I am not sniffing to check whether it's just bath water or a bastarding cat realising my fears.
Every week, I find either an empty contact lens packet on the shelf and one balanced on the cold tap or at least a crispy blue lens glued to the sink.
He doesn't like throwing things away. The pillows were shit (and a disgusting colour), so I bought two superexpensive feather ones. He decides to keep the manky ones as well as the new ones. I bought a lovely wool quilt to replace the knackered old quilt. The old one gets stuffed into the back of the linen cupboard where it will remain until I can sneak it into a bulk rubbish collection.
The knackered by him frying pans have been replaced by fucking extortionately priced ones. He insists upon keeping the old ones as well, even though they will never be used again other than as a weapon or for a game of kitchen ping pong
Pan lids - they're some weird, scary technical thing that must be put on the top of the rack that I cannot reach. As he can only operate the hob on full blast, we therefore spend a fair whack of the gas bill on heating up the outside world rather than the food inside. And the pans all have scorch marks going up the sides.
And he has the Reverse Midas Touch. Off the top of my head, there have been
2 liquidisers
2 stick blenders
2 microwaves
1 rice cooker
1 toaster
1 breadmaker
4 vacuum cleaners
1 super expensive electric toothbrush
Multiple lightbulbs (with a shitty CFL specialist fitting that you can't ever guarantee getting a replacement that fits properly for)
Two bathroom door locks
Two bathroom door handles
One toilet roll holder
Scissors
Kettle
Fan
Sandwich toaster
Mini deep fryer
The mini processor part of the latest replacement stick blender
The DISHWASHER
The washing machine
The oven
All of which have 'just gone bang' when he's been using them. But he hasn't mentioned it until I've tried to use them days later. Because he also hasn't thrown them out. And then, when I ask about them, it takes about 95 minutes of prevarication, evasion, distraction and offers of cups of tea, trips to the sink for a glass of water, feeding the DTwatCats and interrupting me to derail the conversation into an account of something that may have happened 300 years, 30 days or 30 minutes ago, rather than just say from the outset 'Yes, it went bang on Tuesday'. I don't even get cross about things blowing up (no point, he just wouldn't admit to anything and then I'd be subjected to multiple diversionary accounts instead just the one agonising saga per item).
I just want to know these things are now dead/broken so I can buy replacements; if he said 'the microwave is sparking', I'd just say 'Fine, we need to get another one then' and fire up Amazon. Instead, he keeps it secret until it goes BANG and then still hides it. At which point I say 'Fine, chuck it out, we need to get another one then' and fire up Amazon.
And last of all is how he will happily go to sleep fully dressed, with no base sheet, no quilt cover, no pillowcases and the FUCKING BIG LIGHT ON. How the fuck does he manage that? It's like trying to sleep on a green pot scourer sponger with a bag of cocktail sticks for a pillow whilst camping in the top floor of a fucking lighthouse.