It’s Friday night and my wife is flicking through the TV channels and passing many programmes I’d like to watch…
“Stop! I say.
“I’m not watching Rising Damp,” she says. Flick, flick, flick.
“Stop!” I say.
“What is it now?”
“Can you close your dressing gown? My eyes are watering.”
My wife takes slouching to Olympic levels. Think, Roman emperor sat on a sofa from World of Leather. Eventually she settles on a low-rent feel good Christmas movie.
“What’s the plot?” I ask.
“Rich woman dies in a car crash.”
“I know, sad, isn’t it? Her rich daughter is a brat. So before she goes to heaven she’s given the opportunity to change her daughter’s ways with the help of a guardian angel.”
“The angel looks familiar,” I say.
“He’s been in loads of things. I’ll give you three guesses.”
I spend most of my evenings sat on a couch being flashed at by my wife as I try to remember the actor who played Superman in the 90’s TV series. I’ve written to him several times, but so far he’s refused to help me out by only doing films where he is wearing a T-shirt that says: I am Dean Cain from the 90’s Superman TV series. And yes, I’ve put some weight on.
“What’s happening now?” I ask.
“Well, the dead woman is being told what her new ‘beyond the grave’ powers are by fat Superman.”
“What are her powers?” I ask.
“For fuck’s sake,” she says. “Just watch it.” Marriage is great, but honestly, the swearing.
“Tell me, tell me?” I ask.
“Ok. The brat cannot hear her or be directly influenced by her. The only people she can communicate with are the dog and the maid.”
“How does she communicate with them?”
“She wafts things,” she explains. “Look, she’s doing it now. She’s wafting the curtains.” I watch the curtains waft and the maid looking confused.
“Aaaaah,” I say. “Is she the one that wafted open your dressing gown?”
Honestly, the swearing.