This is a perfect lamp. There’s an argument going on in the other room, but here, let me tell you about this lamp. First of all, it’s the richest shade of blue that could possibly exist. Were this shade of blue a cake, it would be inedible after a single bite. They’re really getting quite loud and frantic now so I’ll quickly tell you about the shape of this perfect lamp. It has a wide crown that tapers down to a tiny base and it sits daintily on its feet like an art nouveau ballerina. Something has been said next door and the voices have taken on the tones of wailing wolf and a broken vacuum cleaner. The lampshade. Well, that’s a delight. Inlaid with what looks like golden thread in the shape of stylised fleur-de-lis. Words clearly aren’t enough any more as now she’s beating him around the head with her flat palms, obliterating his hearing with tinnitus. Of course, the lampshade combined with the bulb within gives off just the right amount of light to read a perfect novel by. Tears and snot and twisted faces. I do believe the manufacturers have chosen the best materials available to them for this lamp: fine fabric and cold skin-textured pottery. Callousness is mixed up with love and kisses are swapped with self-loathing. Even the power cable for this lamp is a thing of beauty, snaking away in firm bends. All their energy is spent and emotions have been cycled through to return to neutral. It’s time to turn the lamp off now and go to bed. Together. And in the dark it’s all broken and contorted and wrong.