Half an hour after he and his wife Betty had had an almighty row (as you do, from time to time, after 35 years of marriage), Schlesinger hoped that the storm had blown over when Betty called to him from the bedroom upstairs.
“Bernie!” she shouted.
“Yes, light of my life?” Schlesinger replied, relieved that she was speaking to him again.
“Do you ever get a shooting pain across your body—as if someone’s got a voodoo doll of you, and is stabbing it?”
“No,” said Schlesinger, even more pleased that she appeared to be concerned for his physical welfare.