Julie Burchill: Forget about romance and you might just get yourself a decent marriag
Julie Burchill: Forget about romance and you might just get yourself a decent marriage - Julie Burchill, Columnists - The Independent
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In the language of romance, flowers mean "I love you" and chocolates mean "I'm sorry", apparently.But in my book, flowers mean "You're stupid and I bet I can get round you really easily" and chocolates mean "Strap on a nosebag and stuff your face, fatso why close the stable door after the horse has bolted?"
At 51, three-times married, I have about as much interest in romance as I have in ironing antimacassars, dusting doilies or stuffing lavender sachets. And it isn't just the voice of experience talking. Since I was a teenager, when I first tied the knot, I can honestly say that I was more interested in learning the offside rule than I was in being romanced and I hate football.
Being romanced is like being seduced it implies, no matter how many frills you put on it, that one of the people involved in an actual or potential sexual relationship is somehow reluctant and has to be "won over" to what is a pretty basic act by anyone's standards. It's like putting a crocheted crinoline lady on a toilet roll. And surely both sides should be equally keen, or it's actually quite insulting.
And it doesn't stop with marriage. Once the sort of woman who expects romance out of a man has reeled him in and landed him, what do you bet she's the sort of broad who demands that recent yucky conjugal invention "Date Night", too? On hearing that President Obama and Michelle regularly indulge in Date Nights my first thought wasn't, "Ooo, lucky her!" It was, rather, "Poor sod on top of everything else he has to do!"
So there you are if the Big O finally freaks out and drops the bomb on North Korea, we can probably presume that the First Lady gave him grief that morning about his choice of Date Night restaurant the evening before.
What do you bet that a lot not all of the very same women who demand a weekly Date Night are the very same women who never have sex with their husbands because "it takes too long", "I don't have the time" and "I'm too tired"? Well, how come you're never too tired to get trashed on ros้ wine with your mates on a Friday night, go to the garden centre bright and early on a Saturday morning, spend every weekday on Mumsnet and sit through ceaseless re-runs of Sex and the City until your eyes drop out? Maybe sex wouldn't take a long time if you didn't demand the Ring Cycle equivalent of romance first? Sex if you're doing it right only takes 10 minutes; Date Night takes a night!
As I said in my book Not In My Name, "Women seem to believe that sex should be about sharing, talking, communication, lighting one hundred scented candles, taking an hour-long aromatherapy bath, being given a two-hour-long massage with oils that smell like someone sicked up a whole box of Milk Tray at once, kissing, cuddling, stroking... and that other thing, YOU KNOW, that's really rude and boring. And then more cuddling. Basically, a cross between an away-day to make-up shop Space NK and a playdate with Barbie. Men, the dirty swines, seem to believe that sex should be about SEX."
Ha! I also wondered what excuse women gave not to have sex before "we've run out of scented candles" became available. For romance is surely the greatest capitalist cash-cow ever invented, the gift that truly does keep on giving... to the shareholders of the companies that make scented candles, boxes of chocolates and bouquets with a three-day life-span, that is.
It's true that a bad marriage is worse than no marriage I had two of them, eventually but a decent marriage is far, far better than no marriage. And a lot of the reason is that you can stop acting as romantic cyphers and be yourself; people who like each other and support each other, a team. What could be more different than the romance-centric view of relationships in which it's all about being "swept away" and "the spark"? And what's more appealing?
Because compared to such clear-eyed compatibility, romance just looks like a big fat fib not for nothing was Saki's great short story "The Romancers" about two men sitting on a park bench lying to each other. Of course I wasn't a fly on the bedroom wall when John Terry, Mark Owen, Vernon Kay, Wayne Rooney and Uncle Tom Love-Rat and all went through the smooth moves that kept their wives with them, but I would bet that flowers, chocolates, country-house hotels and the whole corny, clich้d kit and caboodle of wretched romance was dug up and put through its dreary paces until the next time.
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She gets on my nerves quite a lot, even when I basically agree with her. Meh, if people enjoy romantic stuff and they can sufficiently addle someone else with the promise of sex that they'll provide it, everyone's a winner. (Except me, who has to listen to them calling each other Honeybun on the tube.) I think she's kind of turning into a caricature of herself.
There's a Parisian joke about the guys who go round trying to embarrass blokes in restaurants with their girlfriends into buying roses - "Non merci, je l'ai d้jเ niqu้."*
*"No thanks, I've already fucked her."
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