Free William Walkers First Year of Marriage by Matt Rudd

boil except pour the milk in , and then, right at the end, pour the milk in.
    I hate soggy cereal. She loves it.
    When I complain, she gets angry: ‘I’ve got up and made breakfast and brought it to you in bed and all you can do is complain.’ When I say I’m only saying so for next time and that I hardly thinkit’s worth enduring a lifetime of soggy cereal just to avoid a minor altercation, she says there isn’t going to be a next time and that I can get my own damn breakfast.
    Then, like a stupid wildebeest that climbs into the river right next to that big crocodile-shaped log, I say, ‘You don’t do toast right either.’
    A flash of powerful jaws, a crunching death roll, a last desperate antelopian gasp for air and I’m dragged to my death in the Zambezi that is my marriage.
    This seems unfair. I have, after all, been bent to Isabel’s will on tea (goat’s milk, no sugar) and baths (none, especially hot ones, except if she’s in a good mood on a Friday). Surely I can lay down some rules on breakfast?
RECIPE FOR MARMITE TOAST
    2 x slice of white bread, one day past sell-by date
    Butter, must be pre-softened
    Marmite
    Place the bread in the toaster. Start the toaster. Get butter ready. Get Marmite ready. Get ready. The split second the toaster pops, Go! Go! Go! Semi-spread butter for both pieces on first piece, then place second piece on top of first piece to create bread furnace. Count to four. Remove second piece. Spread melted butter on both pieces. Then the Marmite: not too much, not too little. Race to bedroom and eat.
    This whole process should take no more than twenty seconds. Your butter-knife movements must be Zorro-like. If there is any delay once the toast has popped, discard cold, hard, useless, horrible toast and repeat as above.
    No sign of Sandra at work. Her desk is empty; her phone is in its cradle. I’m hoping the lamb was off.
    Pub with Johnson and Andy for advice on toast stand-off.
    Johnson understands the toast thing. He says Ali used to add fish sauce at the last minute to stir-fries so the whole thing tasted of the floor of a shabby fishmonger. When he finally plucked up the courage to complain, she came right back at him with overcooked poached eggs. In his defence, he said he couldn’t stand any clear bits in an egg, not since Edwina Currie. She said a yolk had to be runny and she’d risk clear bits.
    Then things began to snowball.
    He said he liked the skin left on cucumber. She said she’d prefer her Sunday omelette with less cheese. He said capers don’t go with chicken. She said oranges don’t go with beef. He said that only happened because the butcher didn’t have any duck. She said she didn’t like pepperoni on her pizza. He said fine, we’ll just have different pizzas. So she got a pen and a piece of paper.
    By the end of the argument, Johnson and Ali had drawn up an extensive agreement to disagree and now prepared most meals separately. ‘That’s the secret to a happy marriage, mate. Negotiate hard, never give anything away for nothing in return, and don’t whatever you do let them cross the line. My line was fish sauce. Yours is cold Marmite toast.’
    Andy doesn’t understand the toast thing. He is now in love and therefore spending the rest of his life with an ambassador’s daughter who lives in Kenya. She is a vegetarian so he is a vegetarian too. Actually, the diet is very healthy. Actually, tofu isn’t that bad at all. Actually, Andy feels a lot better since he became a vegetarian, yesterday. And no, he won’t have any pork scratchings, thanks very much. ‘ That’s the secret to happy marriage. No red lines. Total harmony. Who cares if your Marmite toast is cold?’
    Isabel is asleep when I get home. A note reads: ‘Hi darling. Exhausted after yoga session. Arsehole left message: no luck with weekend viewings because of curry. What curry? Don’t wake me. X’
    It’s the first time she’s ever written me a ‘Don’t Wake Me’ note.
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