Married, happy,oxymoron…

Wife puts up with a lot. A stressful job and a life in a different country. Possibly the toughest challenge she faces is putting up with me. She copes well with being married to me. To this end and to help everybody survive marriage, I have decided to give you my ten rules for a long marriage. ( I said long, not happy…..)

1) Listen to your wife. Well, actually we are men so we do not listen. You must learn to fake it.

2) Women like romance and stuff like that. You must rid them of this idea as soon as you can. Carry your new bride over the threshold, look her in the eyes and tell her to go and get you a sandwich. When she returns with a plateful of food ignore her and watch the football on the TV. Do not let your wife think she is more important than the TV.

3) Be prepared. A well stocked first-aid kit is very useful for when you are caught faking listening and regarding the TV as more important than your wife.

4) Your wife will like to shop for shoes and handbags. You must learn to stand for seven or eight hours outside a changing room and say things like “That looks nice dear”and “I prefer the other one”. Of course using the latter is a really good idea. Brownie points and credits are issued at this point. Heavens above you may even be permitted to visit the pub!
Of course if you are feigning interest you will be interrogated like a prisoner at Guantanamo bay and if you are suspected of faking a reply… well at least the first aid kit is well prepared.

5) You should find a woman who can cook, a woman who can earn beer money,a woman who looks like a million dollars and a woman who is your best drinking buddy. The secret is then to make sure these women never meet each other…

6) Your wife should be your best friend. Forget all the romantic rubbish, you need a wife who wants to stay up untill three AM to watch the Grand Prix and actually knows who Lewis Hamilton is.

7) For a long marriage, your stock phrases should consist of “yes dear”, “No dear” and ” I`m sorry”.

8) Do not argue. It is a waste of time and it means you might not get any dinner.

9) It does not matter who`s fault it is, accept the blame and apologise. You might get dinner and beer.

10) Marry a woman with a sense of humour. It works for me. Wife comes home and asks what I have done today and she laughs when I tell her. She laughs when I tell her that I am the master of the house and she laughs when I tell her that she must obey me. I conclude that a humour is important in a long-term relationship.

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Itchy, scratchy,horrible and nasty….

I have decided to show my support for Movember. This involves growing a bit of face-fungus on the upper lip. Yes, a moustache. Last time I decided to have a go with facial hair I grew a wild beard for several weeks. It went through the scruffy look straight to the Robinson Crusoe look without once pausing at looking slightly nice look. I was supposed to start cultivating on the first of November but unfortunately on the third I forgot and shaved it off! I started again and now have a “thing” under my nose that is both irritating and as attractive as uncontrolled wind. Wife smiles sadly at me in the morning and suggests that I come to work with her. “That way I don`t have to kiss you goodbye!”
I have shaved since I was fifteen, despite not actually having anything worth shaving until I reached nineteen. I would put bits of toilet paper on my face to try to impress girls with my “manliness”, a tactic which had as much success as my Ferrari badged bicycle clips. Shaving is a morning ritual that marks the start of my day. As I stare, bleary eyed, into the steamy mirror I wonder who crept in overnight and stole some of my hair and then dyed the rest grey. Of course Wife has more use of the bathroom in the morning as she berates me for “getting in the way”, “making me late” and of course “breathing”. I am normally hustled out of the way as she gets herself ready to go and earn my beer money.I try to keep out of the way as she rushes hither and thither and refrain from asking if she can do some overtime this week as my bar bill has crept up a bit this month.
Once peace has descended I return to the bathroom and whisk the five bladed turbo bionic XL super battery power nuclear energy razor across my face. Mind you last time I was in the supermarket there was a SIX bladed turbo bionic XL super battery power nuclear energy razor available, maybe I should have one of those next.
I do know one thing for certain. December is not Movember and this blasted moustache will not be seeing Santa!

home sweet second home.

I have returned to Hong Kong from a weeks visit home to be away from my home. Confused? I am. I have had a fantastic two-week visit to Blighty. I have seen some of my friends and all of my family. I have even managed to sneak off for a beer or three. But where is home? I spend a large proportion of my time in Hong Kong,yet I still am not sure if I can call Hong Kong home. My visits back to my homeland consists mostly of a mad dash around to try to fit as many people in as possible. Jet lag kills me. I took nearly a week to recover and I ended up apologising to so many people as I made my excuses and hopped into the car and scooted off to my house to fall asleep by eight o clock. Of course this being jet-lag I was wide awake and looking out of the window at four in the morning.
I love England. My home is a mad and crazy country where one inch of snow means travel chaos and it is perfectly acceptable to greet a good friend with a torrent of abuse that would give this blog an 18 certificate should I reproduce my greeting in print. I love the fact that we celebrate bad towns to such a degree that when a book came out celebrating awful places to live, the main complaint was not from the towns that were included but the towns who were excluded grumbled that they were not included! Near to my home in the UK there is a hotel that made the newspapers because of the awful xmas lunch that was presented to the punters. It was so bad that the manager was forced to lock himself in his office and call the police. So far so european. Then the english bit. The punters had such an awful time that they re-booked for the following year and the next year was in fact sold out!
I miss that illogical behaviour in Hong Kong. Here, a bad meal would result in complaints and recriminations. In England we sigh, shrug our shoulders and go again next week. Hong Kong is clean tidy and efficient. It is a joy to live here and I struggle to find a single reason why I would return to England. Then I remember they do not have a huge variety of beer, english pubs and of course Morris Dancers. They do have a nice climate and I will only consider returning to the UK once the weather has improved somewhat!