Something sad happened today. Husband has found out the truth about James May. For about two years now I’ve been making up fake-facts and feeding them casually to him. I award myself one point every time he passes off the fake-fact to a third party as truth.

One of them has been rumbled- I heard him on the phone earlier telling a mate that James May (from Top Gear) is Brian May’s (from Queen) brother. The mate on the end of the phone clearly knew better as husband has since been staring at me with suspicion, I thought at first it was lust, but no, it’s definitely suspicion.

He asked to use the laptop and has now discovered that James May has one brother, but Brian May is an only child. Even in Wales, that doesn’t add up (and we’re used to hearing of women with 4 kids by five different fathers “I got pregnant with Tanya on a threesome, so they both comes to see her.”)

It’s the end of an era, albeit a very short one, but that particular fake fact has earned me 18 valuable points in my quest to break him. On the plus side, he didn’t catch Aids from the laptop.

Don’t get me wrong, the mini-game is far from over, there are plenty of lies left. Little fabrications from a sick imagination… things I’ve casually fed to him over coffee, Thai fishcakes or scrabble. It’s just that that one was the first, and you never forget your first. Well you do, but you lie about it.

I suppose a part of me is worried that he’s going to start doubting the validity of some of my other gems as well. But, being the ever clever crap wife that I am, I did prepare for this when I started the game. You see, I don’t just feed him lies. For every nonsensical snippet I tell him, I also tell him something else that’s true and similar to the lie that preceded it- the James/Brian May lie was followed with the Jonathon/Paul Ross truth… This way, when a day like today arrives, I have a 50% chance of getting away with it, depending on which fact he remembers.

A great example of this would be my personal favourite lie- the tale of Jason and the Argonauts. You’ll need a bit of background on this one so I’ll try and keep it brief.

Jason and the Argonauts is a particularly kitsch film circa 1963 based loosely on Greek Mythology (I think) that boasts some seriously dodgy special effects. Absolutely brilliant viewing…

(Taken from Jason and the Argonauts, Columbia Pictures.)

Cauldy Island is a very small and remote island off the coast of Pembroke in West Wales- it has a Monastery and small museum, makes beautiful perfumes and is tremendously pretty. (Even though there’s fuck all there.)

Caldey Island – © Sean Bolton

I may have accidentally told husband, while watching aforementioned film, that the scene where a large metal warrior monster thingy is straddling land and island and trying to kill the hero, was filmed on Cauldy Island. On Richard Burton’s insistence.

This of course is bollocks.

I’ve no idea where cinematic pearl Jason and the Argonauts was filmed, but I’m pretty effing sure it wasn’t Cauldy Island.

‘Hang on, I’ve been to Cauldy Island, and I didn’t see anything about Jason and the Argonauts…’ he challenged at the time.

‘Husband, there’s a whole section dedicated to it behind the post office – trust you not to notice anything important that’s happened in my country, if that had happened in England you’d be all over it..! You’re so arrogant….’

I was all geared up to carry on and nag him into submission, no need though:
‘Oh yeah, I think I remember something…’ he says.
I didn’t for one minute think I’d got away with that one until I was able to award myself a point about a month later when I heard him regurgitating it to his mother. Bingo. This fact by the way was followed by a truth I read in the paper saying that Tim Burton had based his Gotham City on Port Talbot Steel Works. 50% foolproof plan.

Amazing really, but writing about being a crap wife is actually making me a better wife. Ish. I ran husband a bath earlier, and took him a beer- he’s up there now counting his lucky stars for a wife who takes such good care of him. I, of course, am down here telling the internet about how I torture him. Still, he’s happy.

I think I may forgo the nightly challenges this evening. I found a booklet of post it notes earlier and have spent all day writing on them. ‘Cock Sucker’ ‘Bummer’ ‘Homo’ and so on. I have placed these post-its on the pages of his current book at irregular intervals. Every few pages he’ll get a little treat. Unfortunately, I found the post-its in the garage and the sticky bit had long since deteriorated so I was forced to stick them to his book with No More Nails. I have also glued a couple to the soles of his shoes.

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