Susan Morrison: A Brexit heartache that won't be cured by Â£350m a week
Clever doctors say that married people are less likely to develop dementia. It's because of the companionship and the conversation, which leads to mental stimulation.
Clearly, they didn’t research Yorkshiremen and their topics of conversation, which generally revolve around the whereabouts of their favourite tape measure. Who even has a favourite tape measure? He does. And for the record I have no idea how it got hidden under my jumpers in the wardrobe.
The cosy conversation flowing from that particular incident certainly kept the brain cells sparkling. It was less witty repartee than that old Soviet Era favourite, a frank and open exchange of views.
To keep the old grey matter mattering, it’s also important to break routines, so sometimes he likes to surprise me.
He did it the other night, by suddenly appearing in the living room in his bathrobe, which he is under strict instructions not to do. You should see the state of that bathrobe – 50 shades of grey, and not in a good way.
He further surprised me by announcing that his heart was “beating funny”. He topped the whole thing off by looking distinctly odd.
When it comes to general unwellness, I always say there are two courses of action available. One, a lie-down. That nearly always does the trick. Two, call NHS 24.
Being a Yorkshireman, however, he went for a third option, which was to tell me about it, which was about as much use as asking Robert Mugabe for career advice.
Eventually, I prevailed, and the professionals were called. The professional on the end of the phone was convinced that we needed professionals in the living room. A pair of wonderfully cheery blokes turned up and they decided we needed the professionals in the hospital.
What a surprise night out this was turning into.
With remarkable efficiency for folk working in the dead of night, wires were hooked up and machines started bleeping.
A nurse appeared with a smile you sure wouldn’t have got out me at 12.45 in the morning and said reassuring things.
Outside, it sounded like an efficient United Nations as the accents of the world swirled around sick Scots.
Gosh, I’m glad the NHS is going to get that £350 million a week we’ll soon not be sending to the EU. We’re going to have to spend a whack of dosh to train up our ain folk to replace these dudes.
What’s that? Oh, there isn’t any £350m? And there aren’t enough Scottish people? Well, clearly someone out there isn’t breeding fast enough. Can’t even blame that on Boris Johnson.
His heart? Oh, it sorted itself out. A tired young doctor with a South African accent came along and suggested a less stressed lifestyle. Husband looked at me, we looked at the doctor and we both laughed. Yeah, stress-free.
He can stop springing surprises like that for a start.