The Happy Husband

Who is the happy husband? Why, indeed,
'Tis he who's useless in the time of need;

It might seem a bit mean on the first anniversary of my dads death, cross-referencing him to Ogden Nash's The Joyous Malingerer (read it in full below) but by universal agreement my dad was the worlds worst D.I.Y'er. Typically, he would do things like paint in his sunday-best clothes, and because of his constant shaky hands, more paint would end up on him than on any wall or window frame. It goes without saying, but naturally I am proud to have acquired all of those fine attributes.

I absolutely adore Ogden Nash, and his poem was the one I chose to read by way of an Eulogy at dad's funeral in Silsden Methodist Church (though it so easily could have been Nash's very short poem 'Candy is Dandy, But Liquor is Quicker' as dad was also quite partial to a drink or five). In the end, I changed my mind as I thought some people might misconstrue this as disrespectful (of course it was not, but I didn't want to take the chance and upset my mum).

In the end, I didn't read anything, but just got the vicar to give out a tip for a racehorse running that same day, just after the funeral finished. Based on my dad's sophisticated betting system of choosing family names, I had placed a bet that morning on a horse called Bankstair. Miraculously, it romped home an easy winner, and Dad would have loved it. Result!

The above picture by the way, is from a Photobox slideshow of images taken in summer 2006, on the occasion of mum and dad's Golden Wedding Anniversary. Our little family spent a lovely weekend over in Hawes North Yorkshire. These were happier times, before dad had started to slowly grow ill with his Cancer.

Cheerful and always acting the fool, even right up to the end, he absolutely adored mum and us all (and we, him). This photo just about sums him up - Happy but Daft basically!

Ogden Nash: The Joyous Malingerer

Who is the happy husband? Why, indeed,
'Tis he who's useless in the time of need;
Who, asked to unclasp a bracelet or a neckless,
Contrives to be utterly futile, fumbling, feckless,
Or when a zipper nips his loved one's back
Cannot restore the zipper to its track.
Another time, not wishing to be flayed,
She will not use him as a lady's maid.

Stove-wise he's the perpetual backward learner
Who can't turn on or off the proper burner.
If faced with washing up he never gripes,
But simply drops more dishes than he wipes.
She finds his absence preferable to his aid,
And thus all mealtime chores doth he evade.

He can, attempting to replace a fuse,
Black out the coast from Boston to Newport News,
Or, hanging pictures, be the rookie wizard
Who fills the parlor with a plaster blizzard.
He'll not again be called to competition
With decorator or with electrician.

At last it dawns upon his patient spouse
He's better at his desk than round the house.