How To Persuade Your Wife In Seven Easy Lifetimes…


We have been here before. It’s like deja vu all over again. A particularly miserable mid-winter morning just brought it all to the fore.

My wife works incredibly hard. She works in a job that demands that she works incredibly hard. Yesterday, she was up at 5am marking examination scripts. She knocked off for late lunching then clocked back on again until about 10pm. Then she collapsed into bed beside me. We gave each other perfunctory goodnight kisses before falling into our own dreamworlds. Sometime, very early in the morning, she was up, washing-up.making pack-ups, and getting fed-up.

At about 7.20am, she broke down in tears. My own heart wept.

I drove to work thinking about how pointless the western existence has become. Strive, strive, strive, and then strive some more. Pay the mortgage. Pay the bills. Pay for piano, French, and swimming lessons. Keep up with the bills, pay the council tax, put fuel in both cars. Get up and go to work. Try to stem the tears of Spartacus.

I am not a cat or a Hindu, so I don’t see the point in waiting for another lifetime for me to reach my personal Nirvana and reincarnate as a dung beetle. Eat shit and prosper!

Tops, I may have 40 years left on this earth. Beyond that, I will be a semi-functional member of the out of sell-by-date community. I want to spend the rest of my life doing the stuff that I was born to do. And I will do it in my country of choice, the one that I was geographically separated from before my birth. I loved Spain well before I ever lived there; Hemingway and Laurie Lee are to blame.

Also, I bloody hate the winter.

I think that I have spent four lifetimes trying to persuade the significant one of the wisdom of my ways. I may be a fuck-up, but I have my good points. I dream. I write. Love. I care. That’s four lifetimes just there…

So, set about my grail-quest once more. I shall take up my sword, anoint myself with the waters of Avalon, and devote myself to the holy outcome of gaining she who is to be obeyed’s agreement. 

“T’would be good to live in the Kingdom of Espana.”


If not, I am to be a dung beetle with shit on tap…

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