William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story. Matt Rudd
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dumped friend? What if my mate Tom hadn’t forced me to go along with him because he wasn’t going to turn up on his own ‘like some creepy pervert’?
The speed-date girls I could have ended up with
‘Hello, I’m William.’
‘Hello, William. I’m Alison. Isn’t it hard to meet people these days? Just so busy at the firm…working all the hours. Not a min, simply not a min to meet a man. Wouldn’t be here otherwise, course. If I had some sensible job, you know. Not going to meet someone between my flat and the office, am I?, which is the only time I ever get out these days. I’m not going to fall in love with the fat middle-aged guy who looks up my skirt on the Tube every morning, am I? That’s why I’m here. Not because I’m desperate.’
‘Hi, my name is William.’
‘Right, William. I’ll be straight with you. I’ve been mucked about by men far too much and I’m sick of you lying bastards. Yes, I’m blonde and yes, I have very large breasts but that doesn’t mean I’m a tart. I want to know, right now, before we go a single second further, if you’re seriously looking for love, if you want to have a relationship. You know, with actual dating and cinemas and walks in the country. I’m not interested in wasting any more time with no-hopers. Capiche?’
‘Good evening, I’m William.’
‘William. Charlotte. Do you ride? Horses, that is. Hahahahaha. I love riding. I’m still talking about horses. Hahahahahahahaha-haha-snort. I ride three. Still horses, William, you filthy-minded man. Hahahahaha. Another glass of ssshampypampy? Oh go on. Oops. Spilt it. Bit squiffy, which is odd because I’ve only had two glasses. We should go riding sometime. Not talking about horses any more, William, hahahahahaha.’
‘Marriage is a wonderful invention;But, then again, so is a bicycle repair kit.’
BILLY CONNOLLY
Wednesday 1 June
REASONS TO BE HAPPY
Married for a month, only one proper argument and that was under immense airport-related stress. Don’t know what Johnson was worried about. If anything, life with a wife is even more exciting than life with a fiancée. Apart from the John Lewis thing, the Honeymoon That Dare Not Speak Its Name and the new, tougher line in bathroom politics, my first thirty-one days hitched have been nothing short of blissful. Everything is the same but everything is different. In a good way.
And I like my job. It doesn’t matter that I am never going to get a half-mill bonus to blow on a gin palace called That’s My Buoy.Or that I will never be able to splash ten grand on a corked bottle of wine in a snooty restaurant. Or that I won’t have a penthouse serviced by an elevator that has a retractable floor which, if required, drops enemies into a shark-infested swimming pool. Well, it matters a bit but the main thing is I no longer work for Cat World. I have a great boss. I get paid enough to enjoy the simple things in married life: the occasional dinner out, the odd weekend away, a subscription to Money Can’t Buy Happiness Monthly.
REASONS TO BE UNHAPPY
None.
Thursday 2 June
REASONS TO BE UNHAPPY (REVISED)
One.
A new marital rule has been snuck in before I’m even properly awake. It was Isabel’s turn to make the tea, which she did and brought back to bed, looking like butter wouldn’t melt. But the tea tasted bitter and strange. Gave her a ‘this-tea-tastes-strange’ look; she pretended not to notice, went on reading her magazine. Had another taste, looked at her again.
‘Darling, there’s something wrong with the tea.’
THE THREE DIFFERENT USES OF ‘DARLING’
1 Darling. Traditional term of endearment between two partners. As in ‘I love you, darling’ or ‘I’m home, darling.’
2 Darling. Irritating term of endearment between two posh friends. As in, ‘Darling, you look simply super.’ ‘Thank you, darling. And you look simply radiant.’ Very irritating but not as irritating as ‘babes’, which Alex calls Isabel at every opportunity. ‘Hi babes, bye babes, love you, babes.’
3 Darling. Traditional start to an argument between two married persons. As in ‘Darling, there’s something wrong with the tea.’
‘It’s got goat’s milk in it. You can’t taste the difference.’
‘I can taste the difference.’
‘You can’t. It tastes exactly the same.’
‘If it tastes exactly the same, why would we be having this conversation?’
‘We’re not having cow’s milk any more. It’s hard to digest.’
‘What?’
‘Cow’s milk is designed for calves.’
‘We’re not goats either.’
‘What?’
‘We’re not goats. We’re humans.’
‘Look, goat’s milk is much better for you.’
‘But goat’s milk tastes like cat spray.’
‘You should try drinking tea without sugar as well. It’s bad for you.’
‘What?’
In our wedding vows, we had both promised to honour, love and obey each other. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. We’re a modern couple. We were both up for a bit of obeying. Rather sexist if it was only Isabel who said it. The vicar, in one of his compulsory marriage classes, had explained that obeying in a marital context didn’t mean doing what someone said anyway. Oh no, no, no, no. It followed its original Latin meaning, ‘to listen’, as in ‘to empathise’, as in ‘to be lovely to each other all the time’. Which seemed to have slipped Isabel’s mind this morning.
‘But I like sugar in my tea.’
‘You’ll get used to it without. It’s only because I love you, and care about your health, darling.’
And with a gentle pat of the bed linen, she signified that this discussion was over. Henceforth, tea shall be taken with goat’s milk but without sugar. So speaketh the wife.
Feeling quite put upon, I ordered a double espresso at Moor-gate. Then drank sugary cow’s-milky tea all morning. Then ate a whole packet of nuts to reduce sugar-and caffeine-poisoning effects before lunch. Then had no appetite for lunch and had to eat a sandwich at 5 p.m. so then had no appetite for dinner.
NOTE TO SELF: now that you are married, you must capitulate more often. Resistance is inadvisable. At best, it will throw a day’s eating patterns out of kilter. At worst, it will make you wonder what on earth you let yourself in for when you said ‘I do.’ And it’s far too soon to start thinking like that.
Friday 3 June
Not only am I not working on Cat World any more; not only have I joined a reputable magazine that does proper grown-up stuff about proper grown-up things like politics and economics and how to look good in a cheap suit, but I am getting a pay rise. Thank you, editor, for recognising my hard work and dedication over the last twelve months.