A musician friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, was arguing with his wife on the drive home from a concert. It has to be said, their marriage wasn’t overly successful, but they still enjoyed a bloody good row. Well, she did anyway. This particular argument stemmed from a concert that she wanted to go to but he didn’t. It was a comeback event for the now ageing boy band Whack This, led by a man whom I shan’t name, but might be the son of Deidre and Ken Barlow from the TV soap Constipation Street.
“They’re not a band,” my mate argued. “A band play instruments and this lot don’t – they just prance around and sort of sing a bit. That’s not a band. That’s a bunch of second-rate ageing male dancers.”
“You’re just jealous!” she shouted back, knowing just how to push his buttons after he’d had a few beers. “Just because they sold out the O2 when you struggle to sell out the local pub… You’re jealous and you hated it when the audience shouted for more!”
“The audience were shouting at my last gig too,” said my mate.
“Yeah,” his wife replied, “they were shouting for you to stop.”
The argument raged on and on, getting more and more heated as the journey went on. In fact, my mate was so wound up that he only noticed he was doing 80 miles per hour in a 30-mile zone when he saw the blue flashing lights in his rear-view mirror.
That’s not a band. That’s a bunch of second-rate ageing male dancers.
“Oh, shit. This is entirely your fault,” he said as the police car pulled him over. He shot his wife a look. “Just leave the talking to me and I’ll tell them some sob story. Hopefully they’ll let me go without getting the breathalyser out because I’m definitely over the limit.”
“In a bit of a hurry are we sir?” asked the copper, peering through the driver’s window.
“I’m really sorry, officer,” said my mate. “I know I was speeding but it’s a bit of an emergency. You see, I was driving my wife home within the speed limit when she got a text to say that our house was being burgled by six armed men. One of our neighbours had gone round to try and stop them, but he had been shot. Another neighbour tried to intervene but she’s been taken hostage and the burglars have set the house on fire. So you see, officer, it’s essential we get home as quickly as possible.”
The officer looked at my mate’s wife and asked her, “Is your husband always this bad at lying, madam?”
“No,” she replied, “only when he’s pissed.”
