With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow, in sickness and in health, in poverty or wealth, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, Froon or Owen, till death do us part . . .
Lord, have mercy! That isn’t no ring, bo’, that is a noose.
Anyhow today is the day. Kate gets her Willie watched by two and a half billion around the world. Royalty rules.
We all love weddings. Two young hearts joined together to enjoy the ins and outs and ups and downs of life. Reminds me of a story former co-worker David Holford used to tell: apparently when Sir Mally Shuss’ daughter got married, he sent Sir P. Pingtom to spy on the newly-weds. And next morning eagerly awaited his report:
“So, Sir P, what did they then?”
“Well, sire, he offered her his honour.”
“Aye, ’twas a noble thing to do. And what next?”
“Why, just that, sir, all thro’ the night.”
“What? Was that all?”
“Yes, sire. Off ’er, on ’er. Off ’er, on ’er…”
The royal wedding has sparked a deluge of requests for information on marriage from sweaty swains and seasoned sufferers. Let me answer a few:
Q: Dear Lowdown, I love her madly. But why should I tie myself down in marriage?
A: Without a wife, no man really gets to feel whole. But that’s not all.
Notice how Bush, Blair, Cameron, Obama and Sarco-zee have an irresistible urge to bomb countries and kill innocent people? Why? Because they have stocks of deadly weapons to use up before the expiry date.
So, too, each male is into non-stop production of potent darts. Almost every day he gets urgent alerts like those on your computer: “Malebox is full! Download now! Sink the Bismarck!”
Alas, Nature has decreed that only woman has the proper and most wonderful facilities for this exercise. And man figures that by marrying her, he’ll be able to sink the Bismarck just about anytime.
Q: LD, I’m worried about my wedding. Does size matter?
A: Not in the least. Some like them big, some like them small. Mine was one of the smallest ever. We invited about six people. My daughter didn’t even invite me. Brother Joe had to send out for a witness. Or maybe it was a bride. I forget which. But all turned out well.
Q: How can I be sure she’s the one?
A: Sparrow’s advice is still the best: “The one that you love, never marry to she, is the one who love you, she goin’ make you happy. Keep the one that you love on the side all the while, but the one who love you, take her straight down the aisle.” But no one has ever listened.
Q: LD, sometimes when we touch, the hurting’s just too much. I want to hold her till I die but she won’t even let me try. Why?
A: Listen, geezer. She gave you her youth. She cooked, washed, scrubbed for you. She raised your children. Now she doesn’t want to no more. She endured morning sickness. Deal with your morning thickness. Go sink your own Bismarck.
Q: So, Lowdown, is there nothing in it for we old married men?
A: Of course there is. Good food. Togetherness. Great memories. And best of all, great grandchildren. Besides, who knows, some night she might nudge you and coo, “Hey, daddy-o, feel like sinking the Bismarck?”
Happy birthday to beloved brother Bill who sank the Bismarck many times while holding fast to his oft-used dictum: the well-bent bow doth shoot most straight.
And best wishes to Kate and William!
By the way, the Lowdowns are pleased to announce the arrival of grandchild number four, 9:30 a.m. on Wednesday morning, weighing in at a solid eight pounds, seven ounces, Muttonsoup Porklover.
At least that was my name for him. I’ve been heavily outvoted in favour of Dominic Benjamin.
