I hate seeing them like this, these wonderful, outgoing people. Feuding is not their way. These lovers, not fighters.
They were the pair I looked to in my singledom, an example of the purest kind of synergy. The couple every other couple wanted to be. In the pub, in my kitchen or over in Max's den, it seemed nobody else was there.
He'd start a sentence, she'd finish it. "You guys make me sick, pass the bucket!" I'd say but they'd just carry on. I didn't mind, I was happy to see them living out a life that I knew would be the envy of many a man.
Sure, they seemed to the outside world to be all about the aesthetics. Both vain, both beautiful and both a little too fond of the finer things in life. She loved to have her photograph taken and he'd be the first up when we'd take to the karaoke. But at its heart was two people in search of their other half in this world and to be around that was a privilege.
The trouble started, or so I thought, when we were on a night out in London. He got a little too drunk and flirty with some blonde seven years her junior. She didn't even notice, so wrapped up was she in her putting it about, and he lashed out.
"How come you weren't totally fucked off when I was talking to that girl?" he asked.
"You do what you want. You always do."
"What's your fucking point? Go home. I'm staying out."
He looked sad. He didn't like confrontation.
The next day all seemed fine again but he told me that this had happened before, that he'd talk to other women hoping she'd fall to pieces and it would never come. She'd just belittle him and send him home while she'd, well, he didn't want to say it but I knew what he meant.
A couple of months ago it all came to a head.
"Cockbreath," he called her, all playful.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"Your breath smells like cock. Get some, did ya?"
"You're bang out of order you fucking pig!" she said and broke three plates off the Mexican tiling.
He stormed out and she just lay there quivering in my arms, sobbing about not wanting to end up like so many other couples. Her friend Kerry had been through exactly the same thing, she said, but she'd never touch drugs because "drugs is filth, innit?"
"It in," I replied. "It certainly in."
Fast forward to today and there's mud everywhere, a sickening tar that I can't bear because when two snakes mate in the jungle it's meant to be for life, innit?