Theirs was a chance encounter, but nevertheless romance blossomed and the stars sang for them.

And they lived happily enough after. True, they argued on a daily basis. About the little things, like whether to leave the washing-up to drip dry or whether to wipe the cutlery on the linen tea towel. And sometimes they indulged in impassioned discussions about the big things, like the philosophical concept and associated psychological insights, of whether the glass was, as he said, half-empty, or as she insisted, half-full. Each believed the other ought to adopt his, or her, point of view, in order to cultivate a more realistic, or more positive, approach.

Eventually, after some years of stimulating differences of opinion, they agreed to get legally married, as he felt a wedding would fill the half-empty wine glass of his life and she felt her wine glass was only half-full without a wedding.

And their cup, or wine glass, flowed over. In fact, it overflowed and spilt, leaving dark wine-red stains on the linen tea towel, with the result that good-natured banter became bickering, and bickering turned belligerent. So they agreed to get legally divorced and to split all assets half and half.

She moved out, half filling her new flatlet with her share of their material wealth; and he stayed in the matrimonial home, which felt half-empty because she had taken all her belongings and half his.

And from then on they really did both live happily ever after, although no longer together. He embraced minimalism in the shape of a slender lady from the office, who always left the dishes to dry. She filled her flat to overflowing with more and more acquisitions and with the cheerful and expansive young man from next door.

And, of course, they were both right all along. Because it is an indisputable fact that the glass was both half-full and half-empty at one and the same time, and that these two contradictory facts can, and often do, live happily together.