Madness

APRIL -

Monday 1st April (Easter Monday)

In Hungary, on this day, it’s traditional for people to throw their spouse into a pond. If there isn’t a suitable one nearby, they resort to buckets of water – preferably ice-cold. I was very tempted to do just that with Andrew this morning, but more out of malice aforethought than high jinks. I don’t know what possessed him to suddenly decide he wants to give up his job.

‘But what will you do instead?’ I shrieked, slightly hysterically.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Flora, joining us in the kitchen. ‘I heard shouting.’

‘Your father’s gone mad,’ I told her.

‘No, I haven’t, Dora. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.’

‘So why didn’t you say something before?’

‘Because I knew you’d freak out.’

‘That’s not a good enough reason!’ I said.

‘It is!’ said Flora and Andrew in unison.

‘But you’re a really good lawyer – why would you give it up!’

‘I’m bored,’ he said.

‘Well, I could say that about my life – I could beat you, hands down,’ I said, - ‘but I’ve got responsibilities you know! Like looking after the children, a house to pay for, food to prepare, laundry to do, and dealing with a difficult husband who plainly needs to see a therapist!’   

‘Hey Dad, you could be in a band again like in the olden days,’ said Flora helpfully. ‘And go on the road – the Beach Boys are about your age, aren’t they? They’re still doing it!’

I was relieved when Andrew laughed at this, because the way he was behaving was very unnerving, and I could almost imagine him deciding to do something as ridiculous. As it happened, Flora’s suggestion was not a million miles away.

‘I’m going to take a six-month sabbatical.’

‘And do what?’

‘Write.’

‘Really? What kind of writing? You’ve never mentioned this before!’

‘Well, I’m mentioning it now.’

Oh my God! I thought, panicking – he’s going to be at home! All the time! Frying lots of things in pans! Making loads of extra washing up! Using up all the milk! Shouting at the cat! Shouting at the dogs! This can’t be allowed to happen!

As if reading my mind, he said, ‘you’ll be out working in your new job at Pooch Parlour, Dora. You won’t even notice I’m around.’

‘It’s only part-time,’ I said, looking seriously perturbed. ‘What are you going to write, Andrew?’

‘I thought I’d have a go at Crime Fiction. I’ve always had a yen to write that stuff – it can’t be too difficult! Look at that farmer! What’s he called? Oswald isn’t it? Anyway, he was an overnight sensation with his e-Books - people couldn’t get enough of him.’

‘But he’s really good though,’ I said, somewhat unkindly. Andrew looked undeterred.

This is it! I thought – this is his mid-life crisis. I’ve seen the signs: The lycra cycling shorts, the covert glancing at unattainable women half his age, his pathetic attempts at ‘getting down’ with the kids… Where will it all end? As if I haven’t got enough to worry about at the moment.

‘Don’t worry, Dora, I’ll be a better person to have around – less grumpy and less tired. I’ll have lots more energy – I’ll be a new man!’

I doubt it, I thought, cynically – just more of the old man – in my space, getting under my feet!  ARRGHH!!