Flights of Fancy

There are good things and bad things about being married to a musician.

The advantages are that the Drudester does the housework and I get breakfast in bed almost every morning. The Drudester, who has never had an office job in his life, believes that working in an office is reely reely hard and I shouldn’t exhaust myself with all that cooking and cleaning stuff. (Where did he get that idea? Gosh, I really don’t know…)

The major disadvantage to being married to someone who spends his life fingering cat gut is that his grip on reality is less than firm.

Four weeks ago he wanted us to buy a run down place in England, fix it up and sell it on for a mint. I just nodded and smiled. I didn’t mention that renovations on our bomb site bathroom have been motionless for 2 months, and that if our track record was anything to go by, it would take us exactly 177 years 9 months and 13 days to fix up an entire house, not including the garden.

Three weeks ago he wanted to buy some land in Australia and build an eco-house from scratch. I smiled and nodded. Two weeks ago he wanted to go on a mega-cross-county adventure like cycling from England to Australia (after which we would, presumably commence the building of the aforementioned eco-house). I smiled and pointed out that there were only 3 things he had to get over to achieve this one:
1. Several impenetrable mountain ranges;
2. An ocean or two;
3. My dead body.

Last week he wanted to move to France.
“But honey, how are you going to get work – you can’t speak French” I pointed out. I have tell you that the Drudester is no linguist. He believes the Arabic greeting “Salam Alaikum” translates as “Would you like some salad”.
“I can speak French” he said.
“How do you say ‘I play the guitar’ in French?” I queried.
“Easy” was his reply “Je suis le guitar”.
I smiled and nodded. Great, I am certain he will get a lot of work by walking into bars and saying “I am the guitar”.

But wherever we live it seems we won’t be alone. Previously he has suggested buying a pig for the backyard (or the back garden as they apparently say over here) and last week he got carried away at an auction and bid on a horse.
Unsuccessfully. Luckily.
I’m not sure if either the pig or the horse were meant to join us on our journeys …

On the bright side, I am not concerned at all about the Drudester having a midlife crisis. I figure that if he does, he’ll probably go completely straight and try to get an office job.
And the only thing I’ll have to worry about then will be, who’ll make the breakfast?