This past week I’ve been battling a ­gruesome bout of ­gastroenteritis. ­During the festive period, when my diet usually goes to pot, not a ­morsel has passed my lips.

While the rest of the world has gorged on calorific ­culinary delights, I have been in agony with stomach cramps.

My husband Pascal has been by my side constantly; caring and concerned, he has mopped my brow and even held my hair back as I vomited for the ­umpteenth time. He has behaved like the perfect spouse — well, almost.

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Rubbish.