"Marriage is finding that special someone you want to annoy for the rest of your life."
So proclaimed the wall plaque that I was given on Tuesday 15th July. While being thought of as a "special someone" is good, I don't recall promising to love, cherish and annoy for the rest of my life.
I have a theory that one can only truly annoy those we love, as we first have to know them intimately before niggles and petty irritations triggered by what they do can escalate tsunami-like into annoyance. For us, 25 years of annoying each other have passed. It is likely that we will continue to annoy each other for the next 25 years, or - back to the wedding vows - 'til death do us part. Until then, seeking a state of harmonious annoyance will lighten the passing of the years - here's my recipe for how this might be achieved:
Keep calm and carry on carrying the ball and chain - it might be a bit dinted around the edges but like a vintage car, a judicious polish will rub the rust away. Who does the rust-rubbing depends on who most needs to make amends. But it is a canny wife who allows her husband to believe that it is beyond the capabilities of a woman to understand the finer points of obsessive vehicle and - by association because it is a similarly surprisingly onerous task - ball-and-chain polishing. This apparent feminine-impairment will ensure a steady stream of flowers, anniversary gifts and a lasting wifely-unfamiliarity with shammy leathers and t-cut. It is deceit and trickery but trickery is the essence of female intuition and as such is infinitely beyond the understanding of most men. Man's destiny therefore is to become life-long polisher. And as he knows that he is better at it and that if she tried her lack of care would annoy him, he is destined to be happiest in his polishing. And she in her smug blissfulness.
Accept that after 25 years, things could change but probably won't and that what you have must be pretty good if it's lasted this long.
Recognise that there are two ways of doing most things and that neither way is actually better than the other. This compromise will significantly improve domestic harmony when applied to cutting the grass, packing luggage into cars, arranging food in the freezer and loading the dishwasher. Alternatively, and because he is of course right, a canny wife (she again!) will let her husband get on with these tasks and devote her time instead to gardening, reading a book or having a bath.
Give up on trying to win arguments - knowing that you're right anyway (and keeping that knowledge to yourself) should be enough.
Plant trees. Two silver birches.
Get your children to help with the planting and smile at the significance of this. Watch the trees and children grow. And stop fretting over which trees are gold for the next big anniversary - 25 years is plenty of time to do the research.
Celebrate with a party. Invite all that is best in your life together. That best is family and friends. Eat good food and drink good wine. Don't panic (unless the forecast is for rain, or the freezers unexpectedly defrost, or the Aga temperature drops, or for all of the week before the prayed for 28 hour days fail to materialise, or elderly relatives announce they are coming several days early ... to help (!!) or it rains, or it rains, or it rains - in fact, it is probably best to panic. As soon as possible!)
Make plans for the years ahead but in doing so, respect and remember, at all times, the 'c' word. No - not children; not cuddles, not caring; not curry; not cars; not cake (although plenty of cake, like children, is always a good thing); not coffee; not ... well, I can't think of anything else starting with a 'c' that matters, so here it is, the important 'c' word that you've probably guessed already and that is really a little bit boring and fraught with issues of who does it the most, why do it at all, and when is it fair to expect the other to do so - 'c' is of course for compromise.
Escape. Together. Preferably with your children. Wales will do. Scotland would be better but it has more midges. And escaping to a land of fiendish predation is not truly escaping. Not until later in the summer anyway.
Climb a mountain. In Wales. Snowdon to be specific.
And suffer from vertigo near the top. And miss out on the summit photo.
Listen to music. In fact, it is best to fill the house with it, particularly when filling it with singers who eat (a lot!), sleep and make music in almost every room for a week of joyous rehearsals before they attend the Edinburgh Fringe. Or you could use music to drown out all other sound in the car ("Are we nearly there yet?"; "You're in the wrong gear!"; "No - I said that lane! You'll have to drive right round the roundabout now!") The 'c' word is essential in the car - the driver gets to choose. And when he's not driving, the canny wife still lets him choose. Alternatively, you could just plug music into your ears and escape for a while.
Mountains. Marriage. Music. Anniversaries. And vertigo - there must be a metaphor in there ....
So proclaimed the wall plaque that I was given on Tuesday 15th July. While being thought of as a "special someone" is good, I don't recall promising to love, cherish and annoy for the rest of my life.
I have a theory that one can only truly annoy those we love, as we first have to know them intimately before niggles and petty irritations triggered by what they do can escalate tsunami-like into annoyance. For us, 25 years of annoying each other have passed. It is likely that we will continue to annoy each other for the next 25 years, or - back to the wedding vows - 'til death do us part. Until then, seeking a state of harmonious annoyance will lighten the passing of the years - here's my recipe for how this might be achieved:
Keep calm and carry on carrying the ball and chain - it might be a bit dinted around the edges but like a vintage car, a judicious polish will rub the rust away. Who does the rust-rubbing depends on who most needs to make amends. But it is a canny wife who allows her husband to believe that it is beyond the capabilities of a woman to understand the finer points of obsessive vehicle and - by association because it is a similarly surprisingly onerous task - ball-and-chain polishing. This apparent feminine-impairment will ensure a steady stream of flowers, anniversary gifts and a lasting wifely-unfamiliarity with shammy leathers and t-cut. It is deceit and trickery but trickery is the essence of female intuition and as such is infinitely beyond the understanding of most men. Man's destiny therefore is to become life-long polisher. And as he knows that he is better at it and that if she tried her lack of care would annoy him, he is destined to be happiest in his polishing. And she in her smug blissfulness.
Accept that after 25 years, things could change but probably won't and that what you have must be pretty good if it's lasted this long.
Recognise that there are two ways of doing most things and that neither way is actually better than the other. This compromise will significantly improve domestic harmony when applied to cutting the grass, packing luggage into cars, arranging food in the freezer and loading the dishwasher. Alternatively, and because he is of course right, a canny wife (she again!) will let her husband get on with these tasks and devote her time instead to gardening, reading a book or having a bath.
Give up on trying to win arguments - knowing that you're right anyway (and keeping that knowledge to yourself) should be enough.
Plant trees. Two silver birches.
Get your children to help with the planting and smile at the significance of this. Watch the trees and children grow. And stop fretting over which trees are gold for the next big anniversary - 25 years is plenty of time to do the research.
Celebrate with a party. Invite all that is best in your life together. That best is family and friends. Eat good food and drink good wine. Don't panic (unless the forecast is for rain, or the freezers unexpectedly defrost, or the Aga temperature drops, or for all of the week before the prayed for 28 hour days fail to materialise, or elderly relatives announce they are coming several days early ... to help (!!) or it rains, or it rains, or it rains - in fact, it is probably best to panic. As soon as possible!)
Make plans for the years ahead but in doing so, respect and remember, at all times, the 'c' word. No - not children; not cuddles, not caring; not curry; not cars; not cake (although plenty of cake, like children, is always a good thing); not coffee; not ... well, I can't think of anything else starting with a 'c' that matters, so here it is, the important 'c' word that you've probably guessed already and that is really a little bit boring and fraught with issues of who does it the most, why do it at all, and when is it fair to expect the other to do so - 'c' is of course for compromise.
Escape. Together. Preferably with your children. Wales will do. Scotland would be better but it has more midges. And escaping to a land of fiendish predation is not truly escaping. Not until later in the summer anyway.
Climb a mountain. In Wales. Snowdon to be specific.
And suffer from vertigo near the top. And miss out on the summit photo.
Listen to music. In fact, it is best to fill the house with it, particularly when filling it with singers who eat (a lot!), sleep and make music in almost every room for a week of joyous rehearsals before they attend the Edinburgh Fringe. Or you could use music to drown out all other sound in the car ("Are we nearly there yet?"; "You're in the wrong gear!"; "No - I said that lane! You'll have to drive right round the roundabout now!") The 'c' word is essential in the car - the driver gets to choose. And when he's not driving, the canny wife still lets him choose. Alternatively, you could just plug music into your ears and escape for a while.
Mountains. Marriage. Music. Anniversaries. And vertigo - there must be a metaphor in there ....
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