Gents, thanks for your opinion on Fleabag, but you don't need to be personally offended by its success

I have fallen asleep during every Jason Bourne film ever, but I don’t feel the need to take to Twitter and insist they’re rubbish

My friend the author Kathy Lette was married for many years to the human rights lawyer Geoffrey Robertson and together they have a profoundly autistic, highly functioning 28-year-old son. Jules Robertson is currently starring as Jason Haynes in Holby City. Which is testament not only to Jules’ talent but how far we have come as a society in dealing with developmental conditions. Sometimes we can be a teeny bit proud of ourselves.

Some years ago, Kathy had a house guest, someone who had approached her lawyer husband for legal help and needed refuge. The someone was Julian Assange and, for a while, before moving into the Ecuadorian embassy, Julian lived in Kathy’s attic.

It was during his stay that Kathy concluded that Assange was on the autism spectrum and, as a mother who has lived with her own son’s diagnosis, I believe her when she says she has a “spectrum radar”. She also revealed that Assange refused to read books by female authors, until he was imprisoned and as a literally “captive audience” she converted him with a gift of Austen and the Brontes.

Putting Assange aside, there are plenty of other men who don’t read female writers and, according to social media over the past week, there are also a number of men who didn’t get the female-led Fleabag either. Some of these men felt their dissent needed to be heard, “But it’s not all that” they tweeted, “I didn’t laugh once,” and you know what? That’s OK, some women didn’t like it either, it’s not a big deal.

But guys, here’s the thing, just because you don’t like a comedy written by and starring women doesn’t mean you need to be personally affronted by its success: no one is forcing you to watch it.

In any case there will be things you like that I don’t. For example, I have fallen asleep during every Jason Bourne film ever, but I don’t feel the need to take to Twitter and insist they’re s***, because I know they’re not; they’re just not my bag.

I don’t think men and women do have to like each other’s stuff all the time either, I don’t think life has to be a constant overlapping of gender Venn diagrams. I’ve lived with a member of the opposite sex for 36 years and our bookshelves and TV choices are not completely blended.

On his side there are umpteen books about naval history with oddly contradictory titles like Jane’s Fighting Ships, which gives the impression the fleet is under ferocious attack by some buxom blonde. (Believe me, I checked, it isn’t.)

Meanwhile over on my side I’ve got all the girlie stuff, with novels ranging from the Booker-nominated big hitters to supermarket trash. And yes, some women’s fiction is supermarket trash, it’s written as supermarket trash and should be celebrated as such, it’s easy, it’s escapist, it serves its purpose. Just like cheap biscuits, don’t knock it. Sometimes you fancy a Ladurée macaron, sometimes you just want a custard cream.

Do I expect my partner to enjoy everything I like? No, just as he doesn’t expect me to sit up at silly hours watching the Grand Prix, I don’t expect him to hunker down for Dance Moms. There is no big deal about not liking stuff that is predominantly designed for the opposite sex. The real problem occurs when you dismiss it; when you regard it as irrelevant or a waste of time.

I’ve had several conversations over the past few months about Call the Midwife, when blokes have casually written it off as sentimental pap. Umm... hold on here, yes it is sentimental: birth is after all one of the most emotional things in the world, so excuse me while I have a jolly good cry over a borrowed tot covered in artificial vernix. But it’s also an incredibly historically accurate of female gynae health and social attitudes of the 1960s. Don’t watch it if the idea of crying over newborn babies doesn’t appeal, but don’t dismiss it as soppy tosh either.

Before this all gets a bit one-sided, I think women can be just as contemptuous of men’s cultural soft spots. How many of us disregard football as a stupid game watched by morons, find the Tour de France one big yawn fest and roll our eyes at men on public transport reading books with pictures of Vulcan bombers on the front.

Personally I know I’m guilty of sneering at adult males who like sci-fi and in the future I’m going to try and curb that, because it’s none of my business, and anyway how can I make judgments when I like Kirstie’s Handmade Christmas and would watch it every day of the year if I could. Vive la difference. ladies and gents.

Now, please excuse me while me and the old man settle down to watch an old black-and-white musical, because when we can’t agree on anything else, there’s always Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.