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.