VIC BAR­LOW TAKES AN AL­TER­NA­TIVE LOOK AT LIFE IN MACCLESFIELD Isn’t it amaz­ing how re­la­tion­ships evolve over the years?

Macclesfield Express - - BARLOW’S BRIEF -

RE­LA­TION­SHIPS are odd don’t you think? I re­mem­ber col­lect­ing my dad for a Sun­day lunchtime ses­sion at his lo­cal club.

He was brush­ing his jacket in the mir­ror and fix­ing his tie as my mother nagged: “I hope you are not go­ing to that club again? That’s three times this week and you still haven’t fixed the wa­ter heater. Pen­guins couldn’t sur­vive in the wa­ter I bathe in while you go off to that club talk­ing about your stupid foot­ball and play­ing snooker…”

In the mid­dle of this tirade my dad turned and asked me if his tie was straight. I nod­ded and pushed him out of the door.

“How do you put up with that?” I asked. “What?” “My mother…” “Why, what’s she been say­ing?”

He hadn’t lis­tened to a word she’d said since 1945 yet they rubbed along to­gether with­out any great drama for over 50 years.

I caught my grand­dad fast asleep in his green­house once.

“Are you al­right, grand­dad?” I asked. “Aye lad, it’s thi gran.” “Why what’s she done?” “She woke me up at three o’clock this morn­ing. I though we’d been burgled.”

“What did she want, grand­dad?” “She wanted a chicken.” “Why did she want a chicken?”

“Not now…for Christ­mas” “But it’s only June.” “Try telling your gran that.”

It’s amaz­ing isn’t it how re­la­tion­ships evolve?

My un­cle told me shortly af­ter they mar­ried my aunt would leave him notes cov­ered in kisses when he ar­rived home from a late shift telling him she was ‘wait­ing’ for him in bed.

Over the years he said the notes changed to: ‘Th­ese are your boots … shift ‘em.’

I won­der how the Queen and Prince Philip rub along be­hind closed doors?

“Good night, dear. Did you re­mem­ber to set the bu­gler for seven ‘o’clock?”

I’m guess­ing they get along to­gether pretty good. It does hap­pen as cou­ples get older. God knows they de­serve some love af­ter a life­time of ded­i­cated ser­vice.

‘Good night, dear. Did

you re­mem­ber to set the bu­gler for

seven o’clock?’

●● Macclesfield For­est in all its glory

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