William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story. Matt Rudd

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      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.

      REASONS TO BE UNHAPPY (RE-REVISED)

      None.

      ‘Congratulations. I’m really pleased for you,’ says Johnson on our way to the Tube. ‘Obviously, bum-licking is seen as a more useful skill on this magazine than the ability to string a sentence together.’

      ‘You mean bum-licking is a more useful skill than hosting and winning the World Throw the Paper Aeroplane Out the Window and See if You Can Hit a Traffic Warden Championships?’

      ‘Teacher’s gerbil.’

      ‘Low-income earner.’

      ‘Bottom-dweller.’

      ‘Tramp.’

      I know Johnson is secretly pleased for me—even if he is a miserable old bastard. He’s always been my mentor—it was him who saved me from Cat World. If he hadn’t lied about how good I was, I wouldn’t have got tea-maker on Life & Times. I’d still be tasting new Whiskas flavours every month in my famous ‘Good enough for your dinner plate?’ cat-food column.

      Isabel is much more excited. She’s popped the champagne before I’ve stepped through the door, even before I can point out that the champagne almost certainly cost more than my pay rise is worth.

      ‘Do you want to go out and celebrate?’ she says.

      ‘No, let’s have a night in. Just the two of us.’

      ‘Why, I’d love to, Grandpa.’

      This is another great thing about being hitched. We can have a quiet Friday night in. We can even watch Gardener’s World.And Have I Got News For You. And the news. With a cup of hot cocoa. Because we’re incredibly old and incredibly boring and we don’t have the willpower to go out at the weekends and stand in СКАЧАТЬ