We don’t hear much about Weapon of Mass Desruction these days, but I knew all about them way back before Saddam’s arse was as big as a shirt button.
I first encountered them when my first wife cooked a meal for 10 of us two days after the ceremony when we’d just started to eat again.
It was a bacon and egg pie with a provenance going back to Chaucer’s days when an ancient recipe described it as a dish of rotten eggs and rancid bacon rind cooked slowly in a bladder of suet on a horse dung fire in a stable yard wrapped in a pair of old leather trousers wrenched from the corpse of a hanged highwayman.
It acted at slighly less speed than a nerve agent but was just as deadly, attacking the digestive system and causing terminal dyspepsia, impervious constipation and a painful death raddled with wind.
The antidote included a surfeit of ales, wines and spirits, so all present being reporters, plus a couple of subs, and all concerned being legless most of the time, very few of the guests actually perished.
It’s pretty smart taking the antidote before you ingest the poison.
A survivor, a very good friend of mine, said I was suffering from PND, or post-nuptial depression, a condition afflicting brides waking up on the morning following the ceremony.
I remember thinking why just women? If men can get the male menpause (MPN) why can’t we get PND too?
It’s got to be depressing when the new woman in your life pops into the kitchen for the first time, carbonises the toast, stews the tea, scrambles the fried eggs, cremates the streaky and forgets to take the tomatoes out of the tin.
Even worse, she drinks all the cooking sherry before you can get at it.
The answer, of course, is to get down to the pub a bit soonish for a modest 10 pints, three meat pies, two pickled eggs and four packets of crisps.
With a bit of luck by the time you stagger back home on your knees, with one eye shut singing Nessun Datsun the ex-bride will have got post marital depression (PMT) and shot off back to her mum PDQ leaving you to RIP without a trace of PND.
That’s all folks. TTFN...