T’ Trouble Wi Marriage (Part 1 – The Male Viewpoint)

T’other day ah were stood at mi bedroom window, gazin aat across t’ allotments, wen ah noticed a moth bitten Union Jack bein’ raised on a makeshift flag pole attached ter one o’ t’ sheds.  ‘Ey up’ ah says ter me sen, “appen summat’s afoot!”

F’ nigh on twenty years, me an’ mi best mate Big Ron had co-owned t’ biggest garden shed on t’ allotment , an’ thru aat that time, unbeknown ter us families, there weren’t a single piece o’ gardenin’ equipment in it. Instead it wer’ used as a meetin’ place f’ Big Ron an’ me – an’ occasionally sum o’ us other mates like Joe Sykes an’ Bumpy Awkright – as a sooart o’ an unofficial  club ’ouse, fer chattin’ an’ puttin’ t’ world ter rights, far way fra t’ pryin’ ears o’ them indoors.

Inside, we’d med it reight cozy like. It contained four comfy chairs, a table, a dart board, a power supply, a rusty electric two bar heater, a kettle, a mixed selection o’ mugs diverted fra t’ scout jumble sale, an owd fridge,  tea an’ coffee facilities, 10 bottles o’ Old Peculiar, plus us own still fer mekin hooch. T’ flag pole an’ Union Jack ‘ad been added a few years back as a way o’ secretly signalling each other that we wer on-site. We’d nicked t’ idea fra ‘er Majesty t’ Queen – but unlike like t’ flag flyin’ ova Buckingham Palace, wen our flag flew at ‘alf mast ova t’ shed, it didn’t signal a deeth in t’ family, it simply meant sum form o’ serious discussion wer needed!

On this occasion t’ flag wer clearly flappin’ abaat at ‘alf mast, so ah grabbed me coit an scarfe an’ headed aat.

Ten minutes later, ah wer steppin’ thru t’ shed door an’ faand me sen slightly taken aback ter find not one, not two, but three o’ me muckers already in residence, an’ t’ kettle whistling away like buggery indicatin’ a fresh brew wer abaat ter be poured. Clearly, Bumpy, Joe & Big Ron wer jus abaat ter sit daan fer a caansil o’ war.  “Ey up youths” ah says.

“Dust tha think we’ll be safe ‘ere?” says Bumpy wi a cursory ‘ey up’ nod in my direction.

“O’course we will” says Big Ron, doin’ t’ same. “Appen this place is damn near impregnable. Yon lasses will still be yammerin’ wen t’ pubs oppen. They’ll not even notice tha’s missin’!”

“Onny road, we can allus mek a tactical retreat t’ Angel” added Joe.

“Wots tha t’ do?” ah asks.

“Bumpy reckons ‘e’s not cut aat ter be t’ marrin’ sooart!” says big Ron. “Appen ‘e’s ‘avin’ t’ jitters.”

“Marriage is not a word, it’s a chuffin sentence” says Bumpy immediately gettin’ animated. “Ah’d be signing me whole life away? Why does she wanna get married? An’ why nah?  Ah mean, if ah sign up ter play fer Leeds Rhinos, ah wudn’t promise ter stay wi’ em fer t’ rest o’ mi life, in sickness an’ in health, in promotion an’ relegation, wud ah? No ah bloody wudn’t!”

“Tha cud allus do a bunk? You know, run away like” says Joe unhelpfully.

“Ah aalmost did a bunk once” says Big Ron, “abaat eight years atter ah married mi Margaret.”

“Oh aye. Oo with” says Joe.

“Ah don’t right recall ‘er name nah” replied Big Ron. “Though ah do remember she ‘ad large cold feet like mortuary slabs an’ a rather bulbous nose on ‘er.”

“Wot? Not Olive Ferdinand – t’ butcher’s daughter?” ah asked.

“Aye, Olive Ferdinand! Thats wer ‘er.” says Big Ron. “She wer’ t’ ugliest woman in t’ cul-de-sac.”

“Too bloody right”, ah says. “She ‘d a fissog on ‘er like a bull dog chewin’ a wasp! Appen she giv’ anuther meanin’ ter ‘fitter than a butcher’s dog! ”

“Aye, she allus did look like a well smacked arse!” says Ron. “Ah used ter say ter ‘er, after we’d ‘ad relations like: ‘By gum Olive, appen they ought ter mek thee tek aat a license ter keep a face like yorn.”

“You ‘ad relations wi’ Olive Ferdinand? F’ t’ luv o’ God why?” ah says.

“Ter see wot it wer’ like wi a very ugly woman!” says Big Ron.

“An’ ‘ow was it?” interjected Bumpy who’d been paying particularly close attention.

“Same as wi a very pretty woman”, says Ron. “Slightly better than whippet racin’ but not as good as bowls!”

“Appen ah’ll nivver get t’ image o’ thee an’ Oliver Ferdinand aat o’ me heed nah”, ah says.

“Yes tha will lad” says Big Ron, “memory is like a pint o’ southern beer, allus flat an’ murky an’ it dun’t last forever – thank God!”

“If only marriage wer’ t’ same”, ah says. “25 bloody years ah’ve done. Now she wants ter give me t’ ultimate punishment – a second honeymoon. Ah says ‘why? Ah dint think much o’ t’ fust bloody one!’”

“Some women are terribly hard to please” says Bumpy wistfully.

“An t’ rest are impossible” added Joe.

“Appen she wants me to renew our vows” ah says.  “Ah told her, ah’m not chuffin mekkin t’ same mistake twice!”

“T’ trouble wi thee youngsters  ter day” says Big Ron pointin’ a gnarly thumb at Bumpy an’ Joe, “tha gets carried away wi ter glamour o’ marriage. Nights in t’ boudoir, see-thru negligees, ows yer fatther afore t’ pubs oppen on Sundays. But tha forgets one fundamental fact abaat it....”

“Wots that then”, says Joe?

“...it involves sleepin’ wi a woman” says Big Ron.

“No?” ah says with only t’ merest hint o’ sarcasm in mi voice.

“Wot Bumpy  dunt realise yet is that as soon as tha falls asleep wi a woman atter marriage, she automatically doubles ‘er body weight! Tha can bank on it as shooer as eggs is eggs. No sooner ‘an  she shuts ‘er eyes an’ starts snorin’ on t’ honeymoon neight, she’ll keel ova on top o’ ‘im an’ jus’ like that it’ll be like sleepin’ under a sack o’ spanners.”

“Big Ron’s right tha knows”, ah says. “Me wife cum ‘ome one day an’ says, "Look honey, ah’ve lost 15 paands.” Ah said, “If tha looks behind thee, tha'll find it.”

“Actually lads” says Bumpy, “tis t’ sleepin’ wi a woman bit ah’m worried abaat mooare than t’ actual marriage. Ah’ve nivver done it afore like.”

“Wot???” says Big Ron an’ me in unison.

“Appen ah nivver ‘ad thee daan as batin’ f’ t’ other side like!” says Joe.

“Wot? No. Ah’m not chuffin gay!” says Bumpy gettin’ agitated agayen. “Ah’m a virgin!”

A moments silence followed this ‘ere revelation, as eyes moved araand t’ shed faster than a game o’ pass t’ parcel in an Israeli bar.

“Ow old ist tha?” says Joe very slowly, wanting ter re-check ‘is facts whilst givin’ issen time ter assimilate onny new information.

“Forty two!” says Bumpy.

“Kinell” says Big Ron.

“Well ah’ll go ter t’ foot o’ our stairs!” says me. “A virgin in Topcliffe!??”

“An tha’s nivver done owt wi yorn lass”, asks Big Ron?

“Beyond t’ odd fumble – no!” mumbled Bumpy. “Says she wer savin’ ‘erself f’ us weddin’ night! To be totally honest, if it weren’t  f’ t’ local pick pockets ah’d ‘ave ‘ad no sex life at aal. Ah allus keeps a few coins in me pockets nah like, just in case!”

“Too much information!” says Joe.

“Well that wer a shirt-flap ripper an’ no mistake!” says Big Ron.

“A wot?” says Bumpy.

“T’ equivalent o’ one o’ them big unexpected farts that stuns a room in ter silence!” replied Ron.

“Well it certainly did that aalright!” ah says.

“Not aal men are fools!” commented Joe. “Appen there are still some bachelors left. And bachelors know mooare abaat women than us married men! An t’ proof o’ that is that they’re still not married.”

“Wot’s sex like?”says Bumpy ignoring him.

“Well” says Big Ron, “mi wife says mi lovemaking is like a news bulletin. Brief, unexpected an’ usually a disaster!”

“It’s been that chuffin’ long since ah had nookie”, ah says, “reckon ah’ve forgotten oo ties oo up!”

“Dust tha remember tha fust time?” says Bumpy. “People say tha nivver forgets tha fust time?”

“O' course ah do”, ah says. “Ah wer' daanstairs. Me mother an' fatther wer' sitting across fra me. Ah give our lass a nudge an' says ter her reight quiet like, that ah wer' feelin' mooare than a tad amorous an ah dint wanna wait onny  longer ter do it. Well as luck wud 'ave it, appen she wer feelin' t' same! So we sneaked up stairs – an’ boy did we go at it. Ivvery position we cud think o’ like. Huffin an' a puffin, like two elephants on a trampoline. When we'd finished we cum back down an' t' whole bus just clapped!”

“I remember mine” says Joe. “Ah took ’er  t’ pictures first, then ‘ome f’ a quiet drink. Ah'd left t’ electric blanket on so t’ bed wer nice an’ cozy. Ah remember lying theyer ‘avin’ a cigarette. Ah wer in ‘eaven. Good job mi fiance didn’t know – she’d o’ ‘ad me goolies f’ earrings!”

“You wer’ unfaithful then?” says Bumpy incredulously.

“T’ reason men lie is coz women ask too monny questions an’ get us aal confused” says Joe. “Ter be honest, mi fust engagement turned out to be a rest period between romances. Then ah met Paula an’ settled daan.”

“At mi age, ah've begun ter regret t’ sins ah didn’t commit”, says Big Ron ruefully.

 “But marriage definitely changes passion”, continued Joe. “Suddenly it’s like tha’s in bed wi a relative! F’ example, ah recently says ter Paula that ah thowatt it might be good f’ us ter ‘ave a bit mooare variety in us sex life. She told me ter use mi other hand.”

“Appen ‘e’s reight tha knows” says Big Ron. “Margaret nah not only fakes orgasms, she fakes cooking an’ ‘ousekeeping too.”

“Ah thowatt that women wer’ t’ kind o’ problem ah wudn't mind wrestling with” says Bumpy, “ but nah ah’m as confused as a baby in a topless bar!”

“Look ‘ere” says ah ter Bumpy. “Marriage is a relationship in which one person is allus reight an’ t’ other is a husband! It’s t’ process o’ findin’ aat wot kind o’ man tha wife really wanted, an’ then failin’ ter live up ter ‘im. Tha’s got abaat as much chance o’ gettin’ it reight as strikin’ matches on tripe.  An let’s not forget, only a married person can get divorced. Ah reckon tha shud find thissen a woman o’low voltage instead!"

"An buy 'er a house!" added Joe. It's much cheeper in t’ long run.”

“Alternatively, tha cud allus marry t’ lass an give ‘er a vibrator as a weddin’ present” say Big Ron.
“A wot?” says Bumpy.

“A vibrator” repeated Big Ron. “Don't pretend ter look so shocked lad. Tis wot young lasses use nowadays. No need fra us blokes like! Appen ah might jus’get one f’ mi Margaret! Ah'm told theyer mooare reliable. Maybe ah cud even retire fra t’ whole process altogether like?”

“Tha'd  'ave ter find one that takes diesel then!” says Joe.

“Ah reckon tha shud think abaat joining  Bachelors Anonymous afore thee meks onny serious decisions abaat sex ooer gettin’ married?” says ah.

“An’ wot’s that then?” asks Bumpy.

“Ivvery time tha feels like ‘avin nookie ooer gettin’ married, they send raand a 30 stone puddin’ in curlers ter continuously nag t’ crap aat o’ thee!”

“That’d  work!” says Ron an’ Joe together.