There was a golden age in our marriage — a simpler, sweeter time — when my wife could open a restaurant menu and pick a meal with the speed and precision of a hungry ninja. Boom. Decision made. Job done.

Every now and then a client sits in the shave chair and drops a line that stops me mid–lather. Recently, one bloke leaned back, sighed like a man carrying the weight of the world, and said:

There’s a moment — usually early morning, before the day starts grabbing at you — when you look at your partner and realise just how much strength they carry around without ever calling it strength.

If someone had told you in your twenties that you’d one day be arguing over the correct room temperature like it’s a hostage negotiation, you’d have laughed. Loudly. And yet… here we are.

(As told to me in the shave chair.)

Right, let's address the elephant in the kitchen: the dishwasher.

There was a time when we both slept like logs.Head down, lights out, eight solid hours.

Above information provided by: The Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development (‘CIPD’)

If there’s one thing I’ve learned living with a menopausal wife, it’s this: when the hormones change, the laws of domestic physics go with them.Drawers stay open. Cupboards never quite close. Clothes migrate from hanger to floor like they’ve got somewhere better to be.

— Tales from the Shave Chair

When men talk about menopause, we all picture the same thing: the classic hot flush. A woman glowing like a kettle about to whistle, throwing off the duvet at 3am, and yelling at the fan to spin faster.