It's interesting the things I find out at 11:15pm when instead of being peacefully asleep like any normal person, I'm lying in bed listening to random tales from Lisa's childhood. Apparently she used to be a big wrestling fan.

I know this thanks to the following intellectual debate which took place in bed last night (pay attention - this is a valuable insight into our relationship). We'd just discussed the fact that Amy Winehouse was apparently off her head at the Brighton Centre on Monday night, didn't come on stage until 10:15pm, and kept wandering off in the middle of songs. I questioned whether it's worth paying good money to see a drug addict shuffling across a stage in a beehive, before making the point that people used to pay a fortune to see Robbie Williams, despite the fact that (a) he's a twat, and (b) he always made the audience sing 'Angels'. I added that if I'd paid fifty quid for a ticket, I'd expect him to sing, not me.

The conversation then continued along these lines:

Me: Whatever happened to Robbie Williams?
Her: He must be so annoyed about Take That's comeback. He can't have expected that.
Me: No, but I did. I always had faith in Gary Barlow. I'm like the people on the Michelle McManus message board. They never stopped believing.
Her: Do you remember Mick McManus?
Me: The wrestler?
Her: Yes.
Me: No.

At which point Lisa revealed that she has a signed photo of Big Daddy.

It turns out that she spent her childhood going to the big wrestling shows at the Brighton Dome, has personally booed Giant Haystacks, and on numerous occasions had to be physically restrained from rushing into the ring to remove Kendo Nagasaki's mask.

I've made a mental note not to cross her in future.