*If there's one thing that causes almost as many disputes between couples as money, it's music. I have a friend who split from her boyfriend of several years after he told her it was sacrilege to do the washing-up while listening to Wagner's Ring cycle. My husband, a former NME writer, is not quite so bonkers – yet. He owns thousands of rigorously ordered CDs and closets himself away to listen to favourite albums, like a monk doing a rosary in his cell. In his preferred life he would own a nuclear bunker, the better to listen to Miles Davis and Bob Dylan in optimum acoustic conditions, without the disrespectful interruptions of his wife and infant boys. I, meanwhile, own a couple of hundred chaotically stacked albums: Dolly Parton jostles up against Elgar and ELO. I like talking to my friend with Johnny Cash growling in the background, or dancing in my bedroom to Blondie. Thus divorce papers were almost served last year when, on a trip to LA, I tagged along to a concert with some friends. I returned home and mentioned to my husband that I had seen Van Morrison perform Astral Weeks at the Hollywood Bowl – a performance that was re-enacted at the Albert Hall this weekend. My spouse sunk his head in his hands and said, "I cycled 10 miles to buy that album at the age of 15. I have been a Van fan my entire lifetime. He hasn't ever sung Astral Weeks in its entirety live in concert and you – you – get to see him." The only words missing from the diatribe were, "You are not worthy."