Waiting

'They also serve who only stand sit and wait.'

It's a hard fact to swallow as I multitask, doing a little cooking, a little dusting and a little vacuuming while His Lordship reads the Sunday papers, cocooned behind his Door from the household chores and noise.

He is largely an unreconstructed man, of an age when women knew their place to be chained to the kitchen sink and cooker, and men were the providers.

His unreconstructed man manners are perfect; he opens doors for ladies, he walks at the gutter side of the pavement to avoid splashings by passing cars; he raises his hat to ladies when introduced and stands when they enter or leave the room or the table; he expects to pay coffee and restaurant bills and he chooses the wine and serves it at meals.

Perhaps I should refrain from remodelling him into one of the new men with their wonderful cooking, cleaning and childcare skills, but who consider that you are capable of opening the door yourself, feel they can barge through it in front of you and let it swing shut in your face, generally treating you like a another bloke.

I should count my blessings on the manners front, enjoy being treated as a lady while I wield the vacuum cleaner and hug the cooker with renewed zeal.

It's just a pity he can't afford a live in maid.