There was encouraging news for us old romantics this week. One of those survey things claimed that marriages are lasting slightly longer. Admittedly, they didn’t say longer than what, since there are some celeb marriages out there that last only slightly more than an ice cream in the hands of a seven-year-old on a hot day.
But for those of us who don’t get married in the presence of the media and lawyers clutching pre-nups, apparently we’re sticking together longer.
There’s been endless gum-bumping about why this should be. Naturally, the counsellors have stepped in to claim a bit of the credit. That’s counsellors in the sense of people who talk you through a life-based crisis, not the ones who talked us into a tram-based crisis.
This may well be true. But I suspect the rise of the long-lasting marriage can be put down to one thing. Sat nav.
There is no greater danger for a relationship than the female navigator and male driver set-up.
You know the scene. The car is moving through an unfamiliar landscape. Perhaps you are trying to find the venue for a family get-together in a home newly acquired by a sibling.
A disagreement over one duff left turn can quickly escalate, as we all know.
The Mondeo can swiftly transform into a marriage melting crucible of bile and fury as pent-up frustrations and long-nursed grievances suddenly detonate over the dashboard light.
It’s just a spilt second, a wrong call over a T-junction . . . “I told you it was left ages ago. Turn right now! No, not that right, that right. What do you mean, have I got the map upside down? Stop and ask him. No, not that man, him over there. Oh right, so it’s my fault we’ll be late, is it? Your mother’ll be annoyed? How will we know? That’s her default setting. She’s never liked me since that time I criticised her shortbread recipe and as for that sister of yours, she still thinks I put her in purple taffeta at the wedding to make her look even fatter – well, I didn’t, no-one could make that fat backside look bigger. She looked like the Hindenburg had turned up to support Gay Pride. Turn left now!”
Compare and contrast with that calm, dispassionate voice saying “at the next junction turn left”. Sat nav – saving marriages throughout Britain.
These celebrity couples are divorced from reality
Speaking of fast-decaying marriage there’s a gal out there by the name of Kardashian who got married with much razzamazza, hooha and rights being sold to the E! channel, Sky channels 1 to 7 inclusive, the National Enquirer and Hello Magazine – although, given that particular publication’s effect on celebrity marriages they should think about rebranding to “Good Bye”.
Anyway, the Kardashian girl was married just long enough to cash the cheques and get the dress back from the dry cleaners. 72 days, to be exact. I’ve known best man speeches to last longer. Or at least to feel like they were.
Celebs usually cite something called “irreconcilable differences” for the marriage collapsing. I don’t even know what that means. You said I do, he said I do, that sounds like you agreed on something, aside from the media fees, of course.
And in any case, “I do” should be the last full conversation he gets to contribute to, so how on Earth can you find out if you disagree? Silly girl.
Aunty Betty’s bulb pot comes in handy when it’s time for macaroni
Heading, I think, for marriage – and I hope it lasts – was the young lady on the Number 22. She was on her mobile, which means she was talking very loudly.
She was explaining to her boyfriend that she was making the tea that night. Her mammy had taught her how to make it. It was dead easy. No, you didn’t need a pot, not for macaroni cheese. You just boil the pasta in thingmy. Then you make the cheese sauce in another hingmy (I’m not sure if a “hingmy” is the same as a “thingmy”) and then you put them in that pottery thing Aunty Betty grew bulbs in (I’m not making this up) and put it in the oven. Yes, you switch the oven on first.
Speaking as someone whose cooking skills are ranked as potentially life threatening, I felt I was in the presence of a potential Masterchef finalist.
Blatter speaks a lot of poppycock
Dear Sepp Blatter. It seems to me that for someone in charge of a sporting organisation that likes to think it’s bringing the world together, you’re awfully keen on picking fights.
This poppy thing that you’ve got all red-faced over. Why not ask all the teams to adopt it as an international symbol, co-operation and all that, eh?
That would have saved a whole lot of bother and blether, Mr Blatter. You don’t seem terribly diplomatic. How on Earth did you get that job?