Confession Time.

I'm taking a deep breath.. here goes. Okay, so nobody's perfect,
right? I had this problem.. there, that sounds good. HAD this problem,
not have. See? Now I've taken the plunge - or been pushed into taking
the plunge, if I'm honest - everything's taken a turn for the better.
The headaches have gone at last. My head's clearer, the whole world has
taken on a new perspective, and I can finally understand what I've been
missing all these years. I wish, now, that I'd faced up to it earlier..
but don't let the wife know.

You see, this has been going on for years; since I was about seventeen,
in fact. Nobody seemed to notice at school - no-one in authority,
anyway, but I suspect that they were mostly as bad as I was - and all
my so-called "friends" treated it as one enormous joke: even encouraged
the stupid act I used to put on. Well, you do at that age, don't you?
Everything's just a laugh: I'd come in after lunch, stumble around,
bounce off the wall and laugh hysterically as I staggered round
helplessly. Worked every time.

If my dad realised what was going on, he simply laughed it off too. It
wasn't a helpful attitude, now I think about it, but I suppose he'd
always had certain problems in that department himself and didn't want
his own son throwing his unwanted advice back at him. He had enough to
cope with when my mother laid into him, I guess, but he dug his heels
in stubbornly and refused point-blank to admit that there was anything
wrong. That was my role model, unfortunately.

Like him, I've always prided myself on my ability to handle it, keep
everything under wraps; though Marie hasn't always been so forgiving.
Poor patient Marie, I don't know how she's put up with me all these
years. A lesser woman wouldn't have. Quite a few times, I've come home
late from work and copped it. Okay.. I suppose I shouldn't have been
driving around in that condition, not really, but the bus service is
useless so how else am I going to have a social life? It's not like
I've ever hit anybody, not quite.. though that white Vectra had a lucky
escape last Friday. The coppers are never bothered about trying to
catch people at that time of night, are they? I'm not stupid enough to
drive back after closing time, when they're looking to nab a few
people, and get myself pulled over.

I always ended up suffering for it somehow, though: I come in and Marie
makes one of her sarcastic little comments - I stand my ground (as you
do), so she storms off and takes it out on the kids. They go and boot
the dog, he goes for the cat as the only possible victim smaller than
he is and the wretched cat completes the circle by peeing up my leg.
I've never won in the end.

I've had more than one ultimatum, too: mend your ways, get something
sorted, or that's it. That's another confession, and I'm not
particularly proud of pushing Marie that far. She actually walked out
once, when the kids were younger, just to try and shake me into taking
control of the situation. Took them to her sister's for nearly a week.
I had to go round cap in hand, and that wasn't easy for anyone. Her
sister, Jackie, she's married to Mister Bloody Perfect, see. Never puts
a foot wrong, the irritating so-and-so. You know the type, right?
Always ready with a quiet bit of unwanted advice.. it's a miracle he's
still got all his teeth, I can tell you.

Well, I crawled round and promised to do something about it: of course
I'll change, I know it's worth making the effort, blah, blah, blah.. A
right load of old flannel. It seemed to get better for a while after
that, though - or maybe Marie was simply too traumatised by the whole
thing to carry on complaining.

It was last weekend, actually; that's when everything finally came to a
head. I mean.. I came down thick-headed as usual on the Saturday
morning, nothing unusual there, and looked in the fridge all
innocent-like.. For a minute I thought I'd sleepwalked into Janice's
next door. (Not that I'd be complaining, of course, but her husband's
got no sense of humour.) I'd been "asked" to go to the supermarket
after work, see - it's one of Marie's little ways of keeping me out of
trouble and punishing me at the same time, and I can't always think of
an excuse quickly enough.

You wouldn't believe what was in there - I saw it, and I still didn't
believe it. I was so stunned at what was lurking in that ruddy fridge
that I went trawling through my pockets for the receipt. As I read it,
all the grisly details came back.. Organic raspberries - organic, for
God's sake! I don't even like raspberries, and I hate everything
organic on principle. What sort of muck do they shovel on it, eh? Never
tell you that, do they, when they're yakking on about how "healthy" the
bloody stuff is? Give me good clean chemicals off a sterile production
line every time - at least you know they haven't dropped out of the
rear end of some large and unsavoury animal.

Anyhow, I'd somehow bought this weird olive oil when I'd specifically
been told to buy sunflower stuff, some cheapo brand of coffee that
smelled like a baby had been sick in it, some peculiar packaged cut of
goat, or wallaby or something; some fancy-sounding pizza topped with
what looked like Swarfega and rancid acorns. Obviously, it was going to
be one bad week on the eating front, and I knew who'd be getting most
of it.

When I thought about it, I'd been escorted out of the supermarket by
this huge security guard, too: that was something I'd deliberately
"forgotten" to tell Marie about. This guy behind me in the queue, I
mean! No sense of humour. I just fumbled the jar, anyone could have
dropped it on his foot. He goes mouthing off like a big girl's blouse,
I have a good laugh, his wife smacks me one with a bag of tomatoes, and
then this gorilla in a uniform appears. "Come along, SIR," he groans as
if "sir" is the worst insult in the known universe, and picks me up in
one massive paw.

Before I know what's happening I'm back in the car park with everyone
staring like it was a freak show or something pushing a trolley-full of
things that I'm sure weren't even mine in the first place. So, I'm
finally stuck with a fridge full of stuff I wouldn't feed to my worst
enemy, a whacking great bill and a lot of explaining to do. Something
had to happen after that, and sure enough it did.

I remember, it was Saturday lunchtime - after Marie had driven us into
the centre. She didn't trust me to drive, see. So, we're walking down
the High Street, bouncing off other shoppers quite happily. Let's see
if you can keep that promise, then, Marie says. Like now? Well, we were
just coming up to the "Bull" and I was desperate for a drink. I took a
step and she grabbed my arm, pulled me back. You're not going in there,
she says, not today. You're going to beat this problem. She's a strong
woman, and maybe that's as well. I was just pushed along, into the shop
next door; but there was no way I'd have managed to beat this thing
otherwise. Not on my own.

I couldn't back out, not at that late stage. Some young girl - and
maybe I shouldn't say this, but she was quite tasty, so that took my
mind off things - took me away while Marie stood warily between me and
the door in case I made a run for it, straight round to the boozer.
Seldom, in a long and illustrious drinking careeer, had I needed a
drink so badly.

The process wasn't too bad, if I'm honest, and I eventually came out
feeling quite pleased with myself: just a few more visits, I'd been
told, and my lifelong problem would be solved once and for all. I wish
now that I'd plucked up my courage before, but I've always been
terrified of opticians..