When two people live together for 25 years, from time to time there will be irritation. If those people share the money they earn, have brought one or more children into the world and continue to have (occasional) sexual relations, the potential for friction increases dramatically. If one of those people is in the habit of texting during movie night and thinks proper cutlery-drawer segregation ‘feels racist’, then it’s argument time.

Underlying each argument are resentments and insecurities that haven’t been satisfactorily dealt with. So a comment that was in no way passive-aggressive about always leaving the door of the dishwasher open (which is a tripping hazard) takes only a few minutes to spiral into a series of acrimonious accusations over class, money, parenting, education, climate change and the meaning of life.

In the heat of an argument the notion of admitting I might be wrong or attempting to unpack the disagreement is about as likely as being in the throes of sexual passion and suddenly deciding to make a start on those taxes. It’s technically possible, but it’s not top of the agenda.

Much more important is acting as though I’m innocent of all charges, turning my wife’s every accusation back on her and, most crucially, having the last word. Sometimes we’ll reach a point in the argument when we’re just going round in an angry loop – in these situations I sometimes find it useful to deploy the Silent Walk-out in High Dudgeon. Medium or low dudgeon may also be effective.

Some might see the Silent Walk-out as a dick move. In the past my wife has called out, ‘Go on then, off you go!’ as I depart, but if I’m able to stop myself going back for more, the suspension of hostilities afforded by the Silent Walk-out is vitally important. Only when we’re out of physical proximity is it possible to begin the Chill-out Section, and if all goes well, that’s followed a while later by the shambling, shamefaced Apology Summit. The duration of the Chill-out Section needs to be right, though; turn up for the Apology Summit too early and you risk being served a giant helping of Argument Rehash.

When I argue with my wife it’s one of the worst feelings in the world, because it brings into view, however distantly, the possibility that our differences are too great and it would be better for everyone if we were not together. Then I imagine the reality of splitting up. The pain and regret that I’d feel if I lost my closest and kindest ally. The sadness our children would endure. The admin. Oh God, imagine the admin! And, of course, one of my big podcast catchphrases would be fucked.

I’m happy to say that over the last few years my wife and I argue less. This is partly because we have both done our best to talk through some of the underlying causes of our trivial disagreements with an admirable degree of maturity, but I believe another important factor has been my determination to keep a log of our arguments, providing as it does an easily searchable database of grievances that reduces the chances of covering old ground during valuable argument time. For the record, my wife strongly disagrees.