Don't dis that glider

Just when you think life is on an even keel along comes a metaphorical whale to rock your boat and scrape your bottom. That lumbering leviathan Colin,  my ex, has been in touch. He wants 'his' old electric kettle of all things. He says it has great sentimental value. It belonged to Garry Kasparov. Colin nicked it when Mr Kasparov (who always insisted on fresh tea) came to do a sponsored chess tournament at the local village summer fete and was otherwise engaged in trying to beat Colin's computerised chess machine, Deep magnolia, which he'd made the night before from an old Atari 2600, some chicken wire and bits of Scalextric. Luckily Garry won in two moves (g4 e6 f4 h4 if you want to know). The trouble is I threw the kettle out ages ago but I still have the chess machine. 
I wonder why I ever married him (Colin not Garry). I sort of knew it wouldn't work from the off - we had arguments about taking surnames. Colin wanted me to take his but I refused. I mean, what respectable woman of letters would want to be known as Doreen Dormobile? Ridiculous. Colin was also reticent to be known as Colin Campervan so in the end we retained our own names. That was the thin end of the incompatibility wedge I think. 
Talking of which, I found this email in my in-box this morning: 

Dear Doreen
I hope you can offer me some timely advice. 18 months ago I met this wonderful girl at the local toad breeding club. Her name is Gabrielle. For the first 3 months things went wonderfully and we decided to get married. I had been keeping a secret from her though and the longer I left it the more difficult it became to tell her the truth. My secret was that I fly hang gliders. I was so ashamed and I thought she might leave me if I told her the truth. Anyway, we did get married and at first, with all that sex, I found it quite easy to avoid going hang gliding but as the drudgery of married life set in I had the constantly increasing urge to get my feet off the ground. I started sneaking out, pretending that I was just nipping out to breed a few toads. This worked for around six months but then she began to get suspicious at the long bag on top of my car. It looks very much like a toad sluice (apart from the colour of course - and the dimensions - and the wrong material) and I seemed to be getting away with it but the trouble is I never smelt of toads when I came home - just beer and cow shit. Things came to a head three weeks ago when we had a big argument about the true meaning of toads and I told her the truth because I couldn't bear the stress of the double life I was leading and I actually have come to hate toads. She went absolutely bloody screaming mad. She has thrown me out and I'm now living under my hang glider on the local common. With the improving weather this is not so bad but I am desperately worried that the constant weather on the sail will degrade the material to the point of me having to bin the glider. Would it be safe to apply some kind of sunscreen to the sail in order to preserve its integrity or would I be better off getting myself a small tent?

Yours, Seth Digicam-Culprit

Dear Seth
Oh dear me. I do hate to hear such sad tales as yours. Your hang glider is a precious and meticulously manufacture flying machine. It is sacrilegious to treat it this way and on no account should you continue to live under it. Go buy yourself a nice little tent or failing that an old paraglider and some bean poles. 
I hope this helps, Doreen.