My Husband

Living with my husband is akin to living with a whole household of characters. As I’ve mentioned, Chris is twenty years my senior. I have always maintained that this is just as well - because I couldn’t keep up with him if we were the same age.

Chris is fond of saying (he’s fond of many sayings, as you’ll hear) “We have a chronological age and a biological age.” This is generally his justification for being 64 and behaving like a teenager, or even a toddler.

And good for him. He explained to me when we first came to Petworth that he was making the most of his older years: “I’m old enough now to get away with all sorts of things, and too old to change if people don’t like it.” A brilliant excuse for doing exactly as he pleases!

And for years I cringed in my nice, well behaved, well brought up mind, as he talked to everyone, flirted with beautiful girls and told outrageous stories to all that would listen. 

Then in a moment of clarity I realised that no one was taking offence and that I was the only one worrying over any possible repercussions. I accepted that Chris is my husband but I’m not responsible for his behaviour. So I decided to go along for the ride and just enjoy him, as everyone else did. 

At least I try.

Groucho Marks once said: “Don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story.” That’s Chris. His over exaggeration is legendary, accompanied always by fluidly expressive face pulling,  the most extraordinary sound effects and a stream of ‘Chrisisms’.

“I swear to Rudy” - taken from Bill Crosby and used to emphasise every ‘true’ story.

“Plannin’s not doin” - this one is courtesy of Pa Walton and is wheeled out a lot when talking to his teenage son.

“To assume makes an ass out of u and me” - borrowed from an inspirational boss.

“It’s all a ghastly nightmare!” This is accompanied by heavy banging on the table with both fists and whirring noises as he mimes cutlery flying. It’s from a Billy Connolly story - a source of many of Chris’s favourite sayings.

“Will you let me finish!” Said frequently as I interrupt his monologues. I’m going to put this on his headstone: “Will you let me finish...” on the front, then on the back: “Oh, you did.”

I confess to being almost pathologically obsessed with ensuring Chris’s stories are factual.   Something I am not proud of and a habit which interrupts Chris’s flow every time. Imagine:

Chris: “So we were in Montana in November” (me: “October”) and there must have been 200 horses (me: “50”) and the Crow Indian Chief Harold (me: “Henry”)...

You get the picture. I seem driven to correct him every time. I think it’s a woman thing and also a wife thing. Whatever it is, it’s bloody annoying and that’s just my feelings on the subject. 

My husband is one of life’s performers, a tour de force who does as he pleases and is happy to take the consequences. In Petworth you’ll see him striding round town wearing his Stetson hat and talking to everyone he meets. Not for him any thought of intruding or offending. We’re here to relate to each other and that is what he does.

He has no concern for how he may be perceived by others. He is who he is and completely unapologetic about it. And so he should be. At 45 I feel like a younger sibling trailing in the wake of my older, more confident brother, marvelling at his bravery and his impressive cheek.

For all I am a thinker, Chris puts me to shame by just doing it. He reacts to what he finds - offering help, giving his opinion, dealing practically with a crisis - where many of us would pause long enough to talk ourselves out of contributing.

So whilst I often berate him gently for his outrageous behaviour and larger than life persona - still being the fearful ‘good girl’ at heart - I admire him. He is a good man, not afraid to stand up and be counted.

And as he so often says (accompanied by big eyes and a lopsided grin) “You wouldn’t have me any other way”.

And he’s right.