During a recent romantic meal out with my husband our conversation took a rather grim turn. It was all about how I’d find a new man if he snuck off with someone else or snuffed it. I’m not sure how we segued onto this from ‘are you having soup or calamari?’ but at some point during the crostini, we began creating a theoretical list of acceptable traits for my second spouse.  

It was actually quite fun. You should try it. But as we found out by the time our meze materialised, the dossier of characteristics I wouldn’t want in husband number two began to seem quite hefty. Brutal, in fact. I had to whittle it down to a manageable top five for fear of sounding bitter and wizened.  

I simply couldn’t tolerate anyone who consumes processed ham. It’s taken me years to wean my current partner off purchasing identically shaped circles of re-formed pig sold in trays. Sows aren’t round. Ham should not look like calamine coloured compact discs.  

I’m not sure I could set up home with someone who had a fake wood burning stove either. You know the ones that are actually just a fan with a light switch and pretend flames? Awful. Or anyone into drugs other than an occasional Disprin. Or a real snorer. My earplugs are straight in if I think there’s more than a 3 percent chance of being woken by any nasal malfunction. 

Then there’s issues surrounding music. The Beatles - what a din. I don’t like any of their songs, particularly the one about the woman who died in a church and then nobody came. She probably lost the will to live when her ears involuntarily sealed shut upon hearing Yellow Submarine. I’ve similar feelings about U2, The Smiths and Oasis. Music is for dancing to or cheering you up. So I might as well throw The Carpenters in there too. 

The replacement couldn’t be moody either. I’m done with jollying along. It’s too tiring and not in the least bit rewarding. And I’d also prefer it if he never wanted to go to Centre Parcs on holiday because if I wanted to inhale wafts of wet wipes for five days I could pop my head into Toddler Time at the church hall and save myself a grand. 

In terms of television viewing habits, I definitely couldn’t snuggle on the sofa with someone who’s into Zombie Films, Mrs Brown’s Boys, Eastenders, CSI or any type of talent show other than Eurovision. 

Now I know I’m not exactly selling myself here, and feel sure this diatribe wouldn’t sit well on a dating app. So we thought it only fair and transparent that the next time I get a roaring cold sore on my lip, I’ll take a snap for my profile picture so there’d be no nasty surprises for future suitors further down the line. And yes, I realise this list of no-no's is longer than five, but number one is being pedantic.