Chalk and Cheese

We've never spent that much time together, me and The Lady. Since we've met, we've always been pretty much stuck fast upon that old treadmill of work.

In the last six years I've directed, written or devised forty-four plays and short films. All of them, bar three or four stinkers, have been really quite good, have hit their deadlines* and have generally been lovely and touched with a sort of befuddled genius. Of course, I've blown all the goodwill you get from doing excellent work by being rubbish at paperwork, forgetting meetings and not paying people on time because I've lost their invoices, forgotten their names and accidentally set fire to them.**

The Lady has been more productive, she has got a proper job with a proper company and been promoted and earned real money. Her role is to organise things, plan projects stringently, inform people of their roles and ensure that jobs are done in the correct order to the relevant time-scale on the right day of the week. She is very good at this sort of thing. Frighteningly good.

And now we are both at home together while she takes her maternity leave. Working together to look after two babies. Of course it's going so well, I mean our working methods are so similar....

I've always boasted to friends that we don't really argue, we talk through things rationally. What usually happens is this:

1) I state my case.

2) She pulls off a simple trick of emotional blackmail.

3) I apologise and cook supper.

This has worked for us for years. There is no point actually entering into an argument with The Lady anyway. She is convinced that she 100% right 110% of the time. Once, when she had left a broken glass in the sink and I cut my hand cleaning dinner-detritus out of the plug-hole, she asserted that it was my fault for (and I quote) "Cooking food with too many bits in."

As she will not take the blame for anything, I've developed a thick skin and selective deafness over the years. This has helped us both deal with what I regard as her minor mental illness.

But lately, what with two babies to take care of, a house to keep clean and time on our hands, we've just become hyper-sensitive to each other. Conversations now seem to go like this:

Lady: Pass me my glasses.

Me: What?

Lady: Don't you ever listen? God. PASS ME MY GLASSES

Me: Okay, where are they? Did you leave them upstairs? Are they in the car?

Lady: THEY'RE THERE! JESUS! I ONLY ASKED YOU TO PASS MY GLASSES!

Me: WELL, I ONLY ASKED WHERE THEY WHERE... Come on lets calm down a bit, you seem quite stressed.

Lady: WILL YOU STOP SAYING I'M STRESSED.

Me: Well, you are coming over a bit stressed.

Lady: WILL YOU STOP SAYING THAT. IT'S YOU THAT'S STRESSED!

Me: No, I fine.

Lady: YOU ARE. EVERYTHING YOU SAY SEEMS AGGRESSIVE AND SARCASTIC

Me: Like yeh,

Lady: THERE YOU GO AGAIN! FULL OF STRESS.

Me: I'm not.

Lady: STRESS...

Me: LOOK, WILL YOU STOP SAYING I'M STRESSED. I'M FINE. I'M NOT STRESSED. IT'S YOU THAT'S STRESSED. CAN'T YOU SEE, IT'S YOU... YOU'RE PROJECTING YOUR STRESS ON TO ME. GOD, THIS IS FRUSTRATING GRRRRRRRRRR. ANNNGGGHHH. BAHHHHHH.

Lady: Will you calm down Jake.

Then I apologise and make supper.



* Oh apart from that breakthrough commission three years ago - where I got writers block and went to the pub for six months.

** Actually only one person, and it was a small fire.