Ah! well a-day! what evil looks..............

Ah! well a-day! What evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross,
the Albatross about my neck was hung.

How is it possible that I ever came across such a woman let alone marry her? I like most men am visually impared. I see long legs, blond hair and red fingernails as a badge of happiness. My experience like many before me tells another story. Once upon a time...

A retired catwalk model dressed in all her finery and set loose to play is a formidable force, particularly when she has downsized her playground to those in the junior school. It was in such circumstances when my life was on the ascendant that the click of a heel and the waft of Chanel brought me to my knees. But the 'lady' was no novice. On her knees first she displayed the finest presentation of 'lipstick displacement' I had ever experienced. Strange, through my Presbyterian upbringing I have been taught you entered heaven by passing through hell. My experience is the other way around.

And the doorway is quite clearly marked. Centred just above the stocking top lies the promise of infinite riches. A paradise of sticky wonderment. Pandora's box without hope.

Within a couple of months I was ensnared, caught, trussed up like a turkey. And all for a shot on the swings in the big playground.

Up until now my only experience of rubber gloves had been of the 'Vileda' variety. Unlike my mother this lady donned the strangest apparel for washing up. Clad from head to toe in thigh boots, leather and p.v.c. she brought the centrefold of the top shelf to life. Whips, chains and accoutrements not for the faint of heart became part of her 'courting' ritual. And she rode the willing horse, as willing horse I am.

I had to 'have' such a creature. What little price a golden band in exchange for the more precious ring on offer. It escaped me that all I was being shown was my own inept egotistical fumblings at manhood. From my sofa it is now so clear that I would pay the price of my own misfortune as 'hoist on my own petard' I became.

Glad to be rid of her idiot son my mother paid for the wedding cake. I have suffered the most inglorious indigestion ever since. Still counting after nine years. Although in time as she withers and rots away the albatross round my neck gets lighter. One day, one day, I will be free of her.

But what about Mister October, will I ever be free of him?