They say opposites attract.  I met my husband when I was 17. I turned forty-seven this year. Thirty years of opposite behaviour and still he hasn’t told me to sling my hook.


  • He is calm. I am an erratic nutter.


  • He says to the kids: “let’s just let things blow over and we’ll discuss it in the morning”.  I say  “let’s get to the bottom of this right now you bloody hooligans”.


  • He loves Liverpool football club more than life itself. I am overjoyed when he tells me that the Corona Virus has halted all games.


  • He is a negotiator. I am a control freak.


  • The kids ask him for something and he says “check with your mum”. They ask me for something I say “and don’t even think about asking your dad”


  • He loves wine. I love wine a bit more.


  • I say “let’s talk”. He says “goodnight Liz”


  • He drinks whiskey at 6 pm, I won’t drink until at least 7 pm. Or maybe ten past six.



  • He likes his eggs fried. I get constipated if I don’t have enough fibre.


  • He loves to cuddle up on the sofa and watch films in the middle of the day. I start huffing and puffing and say “it would be a nice day for a walk in the rain wouldn’t it?”


  • He’s sociable. I quiver if my phone rings.


  • He laughs out loud when people tell him rude jokes. I tut and shake my head like a granny grunt.


  • He can laugh at himself.  I cry when the kids say I snore like a pig.


  • He has to listen to the radio in the morning. I prefer silence. Unless its the noise of the kettle being boiled.


  • He says we’d better leave now, we’re going to be late. I say we’ve got at least another ten minutes, I’m just going to check Pinterest.


  • He believes in me. I believe in fairies.


  • He always seems to say the right things to the kids. I lie in bed almost every night thinking “Why the hell did I say that?”


  • He can’t remember names, I will hunt you down if you owe me two dollars.


  • He thinks before he speaks. I am a gob on a stick.


  • He loves Monty Python. I don’t get it.


  • He encourages me to spend money on myself.  I say “how much did that cost?’ if he comes home with a paper bag.


  • He cooks and it looks as though Tinkerbell has been in the kitchen. I cook? Think Shrek.


  • He doesn’t give a damn if people like him or not. I am like a Labrador, panting at peoples feet and longing for them to love me.


  • When he’s had a few drinks he becomes romantic. When I’ve had one too many I become an opinionated bore with wine breath.


  • He emigrated to New Zealand with me without ever having stepped foot in the country. I won’t go to a restaurant that he’s recommended until scouring it on ‘Trip Advisor’ and googling it to the point of exhaustion.



  • I love to sit on the beach and watch the waves. He loves to sit in the toilet and watch the highlights of the  Liverpool match.


  • He makes our daughter laugh. I make our daughter annoyed beyond belief.


  • He makes our son cut the grass. I make our sons’ bed.


  • He agreed to quit his job and travel around the world for a year with our teenagers so we could all be together. But I keep going off on my own to write newsletters to people online.


  • His grey hair looks distinguished. Mine looks like a mop that’s been dropped in a bucket of dirty bleach water.


  • He has laughter lines. I have crows feet. Deep ones.



  • He loves me. But I will always love him more.





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