“Call me shallow, but I cannot live with that Mo”

IT’S 11pm and I am in bed, specs on, book in hand.

My husband is doing his nightly Spiderman Scuttle — a hip flexion exercise which he executes by scampering jerkily backwards and forwards on all fours across the bedroom floor.

This is accompanied by Spiderman acoustics: a rousing syncopation of pants, grunts and floorboard judders.