Humour: What a daft, cold play from Paltrow

Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin left me in all sorts of trouble with my wife this week.

Taking a leaf out of their new-age book on love and marriage, I read about their sudden separation and called out to my better half.

"I'm reading about this trendy, new relationship development," I shouted. "How would you feel about 'a conscious uncoupling'?"

"What the heck is conscious uncoupling?" she replied warily, "Are you looking at porn?"

"No, no... I'm reading about this celebrity break-up."

"It sounds pornographic to me. And you've got the cleanest web browsing history since Julian Assange, it's like living with a spy - or a pervert."

Any further attempts at explanation proved futile.

So how do you explain the news this week that full-time perfection goddess and occasional actress Paltrow had separated from husband and occasional hotel lounge music creator Martin?

Yes, yes, that's a little bit harsh. There are at least three hotels in Singapore with house bands that do not play Coldplay's Yellow.

But they do still play Stairway to Heaven, Hotel California and Smoke on the Water if they're feeling a bit raunchy, so there's no need to panic.

Coldplay's music is perfectly polite, harmless and non-threatening - a bit like a chartered accountant.

In fact, Coldplay's music could be piped into the ballroom during an annual conference of Singapore's chartered accountants.

Paltrow could do the catering.

Relax, I'm just kidding. Paltrow is blessed with razor-sharp cheekbones, a flawless complexion and the only man in the world who still sells albums outside of One Direction.

If she wants to further supplement her income by publishing cookbooks insisting that ugly people can look just like her with a single glass of cucumber juice and a grilled mushroom on a bed of dried lentils, then good luck to her.

I'm not trying to mock her or her husband or their two children - Banana and Gandhi.

Okay, I admit that I couldn't recall what their children's names were when I wrote that paragraph. I just knew that they were something fruity and historically weighty.

So I checked later and the actual names are Apple and Moses. Now that's just child abuse. How could they possibly live up to those names? Now they're going to have to part the Red Sea or at least taste really good in a smoothie.

So even though Paltrow spent the last 10 years telling us plain-looking people how to eat, drink, dress and live our lives, I've tried to avoid pointing a satirical finger in her direction.

And even though they've saddled one kid with a name associated with superhuman feats, a big white beard and Charlton Heston, and left the other sounding like a fruit loop, I've tried to steer clear of yet another celebrity split.

But once they called their separation a "conscious uncoupling", all bets were off.

That's not a marriage break-up. That's an MRT announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to apologise for the delay on the North-South Line this evening, but there's been a conscious uncoupling on the line between Bishan and Ang Mo Kio."

There are no conscious couplings or uncouplings in Singapore.

There are conscious visits to the HDB Hub to buy a flat. Then there are conscious arguments over the sale of said HDB flat.

That's how we do marriage and divorce here. We don't do a 'conscious uncoupling' in Singapore. No one does in the real world.

I called a real expert on this issue - my mother. She has been married three times. She has her own parking space at the solicitor's office.

"Mum, think back for a moment," I began. "Have you ever had a conscious uncoupling?"

"I don't think so," she replied.

"But I used to drink vodka back then, so anything'https://www.asiaone.com/node/add/articles possible."

Paltrow and Martin have asked for privacy at this time, which is understandable. Conscious uncoupling is hard enoughttps://www.asiaone.com/node/add/articleh to say, let alone spell.

But keep an eye on your more pretentious friends in the coming months (you know who, the ones who are always detoxing and listening to Coldplay.) It's only a matter of time before one experiences a "conscious uncoupling".

But there won't be one in my house for sure.

My wife remains convinced that a "conscious uncoupling" has pornographic undertones, particularly after she caught me staring at some disturbing images.

No grown man should be caught staring at those images and I deeply regret searching for them online.

They were pictures of a Coldplay concert.

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