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In my house, I'm the one who cares - and apparently I care enough for both myself and my husband.

I've come home many-a-time to find him and the cat snuggled serenely on the sofa together oblivious to a sea of mess, dirty dishes and rats nibbling on half-eaten sandwiches.

(Okay, I made the last bit up).

I've been ill for the last two days and while I've lain uncomplaining in my den of pain and misery (aka my bedroom) they've wreaked havoc in every single room.

Last night I ventured downstairs and almost fainted with the shock.

"Poor you, you do look pale," said Smithy. "Do you want anything?"

I tried to decide where to start.

"You could stack that pile of plates in the dishwasher? Or hoover up ALL THE CAT HAIR? Or dust? Or even just a quick tidy up would be good..?"

He looked confused.

"I meant I could get you a glass of water?"

Then he paused.

"Oh wait, there are no glasses clean. I could get you...um...a bowl of water?"

This is one of the biggest differences between my husband and I.

He sees nothing wrong with leaving apple cores to fester on the coffee table, and says an increase in fruit flies is simply down to 'coincidence'.

If he discovers the kitchen bin is full, he simply starts to pile the rubbish on the side, or - in a new development - uses the paper bin in the living room instead.

Many a time recently I've discovered the scrapings of the previous night's spaghetti in the wicker bin next to the sofa.

But it might be that I've become a bit more precious since being pregnant because I've started to find other people's hygiene habits annoying too.

"You need to get us out of here! I am not eating that sandwich!" I hissed to my husband, when we were offered lunch at a friend's house last week.

"What's the matter? You love cheese and pickle!"

I hissed again: "She has no soap in either the bathroom or the kitchen! NO SOAP! And she has a dog!"

Even Smithy looked slightly nauseous at that.