The Great Outdoors

Whilst appreciating there are exceptions, I often marvel about how many times you have to tell the average man something before it actually permeates a brain cell and results in affirmative action. And, why do you even have to tell them in the first place when whatever you’re having to instruct them in words of no more than one syllable, is blindingly obvious? Once they have actually heard you and grunted their understanding, it doesn't necessarily mean you can cross it off your 'House Training' list as, at any random point in the future, they can and usually do revert back to their original behaviour.

For instance, if your or Chickie’s shoes are muddy, take them off before leaving muddy father and son paw prints on every floor in the house. A reasonable request made approx. 50 times. Request honoured approx. once.

Another? Please don’t parp your way around the back the garden like a backfiring lawnmower whilst snorting like a congested pot bellied pig whilst the neighbours rush their dinner guests and bbq back into the house. Request made approx. 250 times. Never honoured.

And Another? The dishwasher isn’t an enchanted washing wonderland where little scrubbing fairies tackle the concrete curry you’ve left to go off overnight with their special magic pneumatic brillo pads. You may actually have to soak it first.

And one more… don’t put half your dinner in your mouth in one go, it’s not attractive and, granted you’ve cheated death thus far, but one day, you will require the Heimlich Manoeuvre and I’m not trained, I can’t reach and you’re the weight of a small hippo.

The real problem is this. If a man doesn’t listen, a woman is forced to reiterate. However, men seem to view reiteration as nagging thus rendering a man selectively and completely deaf.

You do have the choice of simply doing everything yourself and demurely traipsing after your beloved with the hoover and a nose peg, saying nothing, expecting nothing and accepting the fact your weekly household chores have needlessly doubled. Eventually, you go to bed wearing marigolds, your spirit is lost in a haze of dust and your husband tells you he doesn't find you and your overalls very attractive any more.

Luckily, I’m not the demure, silent type so have come up with a new strategy.

Send the slob packing come the weekend! No slob = no trashing = no nagging. Everyone's a winner.

I also have a back up plan should I encounter any problems with my masterplan. Buy shed from local garden centre. Buy sleeping bag, put in shed. Et voila.

He keeps saying he wants to go camping!