Flatcap Regaled

 

We all know a Flatcap. He’s the bloke in the corner of the pub hovering over a half of mild for two hours, waiting for someone to refresh his glass, in exchange for which he will give you his opinion… on anything and everything.

This is because he is a self-proclaimed expert on anything and everything.

One of his most popular volumes is Flatcap on Sex. He originally wrote it for men, but it’s proving just as popular with the ladies, as is revealed by the late review from Carol Anne Hunter.

‘This has to be one of the funniest books on the subject – ever. David W Robinson has such a droll sense of humour and his no-nonsense, slightly cynical approach is hysterical. I’ve now purchased the other Flatcap book and can’t wait to read it. I’ll definitely be recommending this one to my friends!’

Thank you Carol.

By way of consolidating his reputation as the Wiki of the Jolly Carter, here is the foreword to his forthcoming volume, tentatively entitled, Flatcap on Marriage. (Note: by forthcoming, Flatcap means any time in the next five years.)

*** 

They say marriage is a fine institution. So is Strangeways, but would you want to spend the rest of your life there?

In truth, marriage is the biggest con trick in the book. On the day, you only pay for the ceremony, but you pay for marriage for the rest of your life. You’ll tip up your wages every Friday and receive a pittance back out of them, and that’s only to take care of your bus fares or petrol to work.

Over and above the financial sacrifice, you’ll mow the lawn, paint the fence, mend the car, go to Savepennies and do the shopping, clean the windows, program the DVD or hard drive recorder so it tapes all her episodes of Corrie, Stenders and Emmerdale, and after tea you’ll do the washing up. You’ll give up your Saturday afternoon, pre-match pint, and your Sunday lunchtime session with the lads. In fact, marriage will leave you with so little cash that you’ll give up drinking altogether. And smoking. And you’ll give up sex the day after you get married.

Overnight, notwithstanding the fact that you’ve never been nearer to a skilled trade than plugging your X-box into a wall socket, you’ll become an expert on the mechanical iniquities of cars, intruder alarms, cookers, microwave ovens, washing machines, vacuum cleaners, TV’s, radios, dishwashers, central heating boilers, steam irons, curling tongs, lavatories and drains. The minute you’re married you’ll simultaneously become a tree surgeon, gardener, concreter, bricklayer, plumber, carpenter, painter and decorator, roofer, TV aerial rigger, carpet fitter, floor and wall tiler and an accountant. As if all that’s not enough, you’ll be expected to understand the ramifications of a 0.05% decrease in GDP, a 1.2% increase in incidence of irritable bowel syndrome amongst X-Factor contestants, and the fine print in obesity discrimination legislation which is due in from Brussels. At the same time you’ll have to come up with an analysis of the last three months’ winning lottery numbers so you can develop a system to make a profit on it. And that profit will go in her purse, not your pocket.

And what do you get in return? A packet of sandwiches and flask of tea to see you through work every day, and a spot of the other once a fortnight as long as it doesn’t clash with Dancing on Ice.

I’m an expert on marriage. I should be. I’ve had plenty of practice. I fell for it not once but twice. All up, I’m nearing 45 years as a married man. What I don’t know about it by now hasn’t been invented. The bloody Great Train Robbers spent less time behind bars than I’ve spent in marital mayhem, and according to my calculations, if I’d shot both of ’em I’d have been out of jail a week last Tuesday.

There will be those of you reading with a sense of hope, but I’m going to put paid to that right now.

When it comes to marriage, there is no hope. Once you’re in, there’s no way out

***And there you have it. I told you Flatcap was an expert, didn’t I?

You may be wondering whether Flatcap’s work is part of the Crooked Cat Summer Sale. Well, no, it isn’t. With all the perspicacity expected of such a fine organisation as Crooked Cat, they had more sense than to take Flatcap on.