‘Right, let’s go,’ Hot Danish hissed during the final Savasana pose, as we neared the end of our yin yoga session. We tiptoed over resting bodies, down the stairs and parted at the changing rooms. In the reception I saw someone I’d previously met at a friend’s party. ‘I love yoga; it’s cheaper than a massage,’ she said. Before I could respond I heard another hiss in my ear, ‘Come on, let’s get home so we can watch True Detective.’

Yoga had been my idea following our holiday – I thought it would help improve our patience and calm our tempers. The following week HD reached for a bottle of beer five minutes before we were due to leave for yoga. ‘I’m not going, but I’ll drop you off,’ he said. I lost my cool. ‘You need it more anyway,’ HD added. I went for a run instead.

‘Is Matt still doing Hot Yoga?’ I asked Kate.
‘He was doing it five days per week but he hasn’t been for a while,’ she said.
‘Were there many other guys in his class [there had only been one other freakishly flexible guy in my class]?’
‘Four or five. I’d always make jokes about Matt choosing a spot right behind one of the guys.’ We laughed. ‘Why do our guys get so mad if we make jokes about them being gay?,’ she added.
‘Perhaps it’s their way of messing with us. We’ll think their defensiveness means they really are gay.’

Meanwhile, HD is getting his own back on me for dragging him to yoga. Whenever I complain that he’s spending too much time in bed he says he’s practicing his Savasana pose and when I get hot-tempered he tells me to take a deep breath and let go. This is a good time (when I’m thinking the opposite) to mutter to myself, ‘Say good words. Think good thoughts. Do good deeds.’