SIZE, they say, doesn't matter but don't you believe it. It does in our family. My wife and I see eye to eye on most matters... literally. I am not what you might call overly tall and so it was an achievement when, 27 years ago, I managed to coax my wife up the aisle.

She's a woman of, well, conventional height and, although she never made a song and dance about it, has always been a bit troubled by my stature, particularly if we are going out for an evening and she is wearing heels.

I may look a little challenged alongside her but she was comfortable that, at 5ft 7ins, I was actually a smidgen the taller.

Until one day, some years ago, when someone got out the sewing tape measure and she decided to run the rule over me.

Even today I find it hard to express the look of horror that came over her face when she held the measure close to her eyes and, aghast, muttered the words: "Five feet six and three-quarter inches! You are only five feet six and three-quarters tall!"

Nothing more was said about it until many years later when she admitted that, happy though our years together had been, she felt she had been "cheated" into marriage.

Worse still, this year she voiced her fears that I was shrinking.

I knew that was not true but kept my silence with Napoleonic dignity.

Until last week. A while ago I had mentioned a minor muscular chest pain to her and, before you could say "disgraceful male hypochondriac" my wife had booked me an appointment at a private hospital to go through a full gentleman's MoT.

Imagine my delight, then when I emerged from a consulting room to be told by the nurse that, not only was my body fat just within acceptable levels of porkiness, but I was 170.5 cm tall, no less. And that converted to 5ft 7ins tall! Just over! 5ft 7ins!

I punched the air with delight and the rest of the lengthy examination (where the doctor thoroughly tested everything from the sight and hearing to blood and urine) disappeared in what seemed like seconds as I looked forward with relish to rushing home and sharing my tall story.

I won't embarrass you with more details of the digital technology, or about how, though money well-spent, it cost me an arm and a leg when given the bill. But it was good news and I skipped home beaming.

Mind you, it was a very different story going there in the first place. Why?

Dare I say it in decent company, I had to take along a stool sample.

And as my wife pointed out, thank heavens I wasn't mugged on the way.

Enjoy your dinner.

First published: Sept 30