'Instead of getting married again, I’m going to find a woman I don’t like and just give her a house.’
When I first read this quote from Rod Stewart, I thought he’d said ‘horse’. Oh, that’s nice, I thought. One less riding pony headed for the meatpacking plant.
Then I realised he had said ‘house’. God, yeah. Who on earth would ever get married?
I look at gay people, aching to tie the knot, and think: ‘Are you insane? Why would you want what we have?’
It’s not the put-downs, which rain down on your head like rice as you emerge, blinking, from the vestry (and as soon as the celebratory rice, actually).
As the Chris Huhne case proves, wives are just as bad as husbands when it comes to vitriol and betrayal, especially when they become mothersChris Huhne said to his wife, as a car arrived to take her to appear on Newsnight: ‘Why are they asking you? You do not know anything.’
My husband said to me: ‘Never, ever write a column where you express your opinions.’ And, in answer to a journalist quizzing him over what my favourite designer brand might be, he came up with: ‘Um, Next?’
It is not just the chipping away at your self-esteem that fells you – you can’t help but believe what they are saying is true, because they know you best.
No, it’s the fact you cannot trust a spouse. Not when it comes to the smallest thing, such as, ‘Have you washed your hands? Have you?’ (I was known to check for traces of dampness), or the biggest, such as: ‘Did you use a condom when you had sex with her?’
And as the Huhne case proves, wives are just as bad as husbands when it comes to vitriol and betrayal, especially when they become mothers.
I always used to think that my marriage would have lasted longer had I been able to have children, but, reading the transcripts of what went on in the Huhne household, I’ve come to believe that having pawns you can push around between you, and topple, and capture, makes things worse.
‘Do you know what your father contributes to your upkeep a week?’ I heard a mum yell at her small son about her estranged partner. ‘Five pounds! You couldn’t feed a cat for that much!’ And I saw the little boy’s face turn as pale as the moon.
Proof, too, that people don’t become adults as soon as they have procreated.
Reading the transcripts of what went on in the Huhne household, I've come to believe that having pawns you can push around between you, and topple, and capture, makes things worseThe other week I was in a self-help group with eight other women, and my only advice to a thirtysomething career woman desperate to find the man of her dreams was: ‘Don’t get married. Have you not heard of the no-fault divorce? Even if he has cheated on you, if you earn more, you will have to pay him alimony.’ I also told her she should conceal her success from her family.
I had no problem with my family at all when I was earning £5,000 a year (1982), or £27,000 a year (1990) or £70,000 (1999) – actually, yes, there was a bit of a problem at this point.
I hired a villa for my dear old mum, then recently widowed, and took my sister along, who proceeded to scold my still-grieving mum rather terribly for having wheeled her child’s buggy through dog poo left on the cobbles at San Gimignano.
Again, there were no problems when I was making £26,000 (2001) or £50,000 (2003).
But the moment you earn a little bit more, everything changes. Especially if you are female. Or maybe men are just better at saying no, at pretending they have forgotten their wallet.
All in all, my view is that families – spouses, siblings, children, aunts, nephews and nieces – are toxic. My motto these days is to trust no one. Not to be generous, ever.
It’s a sometimes difficult way to live your life devoid of real human contact or commitment, but it avoids those crashing moments of revelation when the blood in your veins turns to ice – like the time when you’re on the phone to your lawyer, the lovely lady who handled your divorce, and she tells you, after trying to resolve a quarrel between you and your sister that ended in you giving her a house: ‘Don’t trust your other sister, either. When I was on the phone negotiating, I could hear her talking in the background, betraying you.’
Alone, you have little to fear but fear itself.
You might not be found until three years after you have died, and have to endure a team of forensic experts picking over your bones (the documentary on Channel 4 on Thursday night, Dreams Of A Life, about how on earth a beautiful young woman’s body lay undiscovered in this way, was brilliant and moving), but at least you won’t be stripped of all you have while still alive.