Lorraine was 'er name. It all started off well. Nothin' went wrong at the weddin'. I think it was the honeymoon that started the rot.
I booked into a swanky hotel for the weddin’ night, like. Bloke at the reception desk asks if I would be happy with the bridal chamber. I says that me lovely wife will be but I’d just piss out the window, as usual. ‘E seemed a bit taken aback for some reason.
Then we ‘ired a caravan and took it up to Binangon’s surf coast. On the way Lorraine hops into the van for a bit of a sleep. It was hot in there, so she strips off pretty well to the nuddy. But then I get a flat and pull over in the middle of nowhere to fix it. I don’t want to wake Lorraine, so I change the roadside tire, climb back in and take off.
‘Course, what I didn't know was that Lorraine ‘ad woken up while I was changin' the tire and hopped out the door on the other side of the caravan to have a leak in the bush. She was left there in her knickers when I drove off.
But I got ‘er back again.
While I was drivin' along, a bloke on a motorbike overtook me. On the back of the motorbike was Lorraine in nothin' but her briefs yellin' and wavin' at me to pull over. I was so surprised I nearly ran the lot off the bloody road!
Lorraine wasn't real pleased. Lucky this motorcyclist had come along and given her a lift, otherwise she might have been there still. I don't think she ever really forgave me. Thought I did it on purpose. I was as popular as a turd in the fruit salad after that.
But then things went from bad to worse. For a Chrissy present I thought it'd be a good idea to send her a traditional gift. So I come up with a brilliant idea - the twelve days of Christmas - a new gift every day, startin' with the partridge in a pear tree. I was away workin' in the lead-up to Christmas that year, but I organised with the gift shop ter deliver the stuff right to the door every day. Lorraine wrote me back every day, too...
December 14 - My Dearest Bob,Thank you, darling, for the wonderful partridge in a pear tree. It is a delightful Christmas gift. With deep love and affection always, your loving Lorraine.
December 15 - Dearest Bob,What a sweet gift the courier brought today. Two adorable turtle doves. I am so delighted. Your Lorraine.
December 16 - Dear Bob,You are much too extravagant. Thank you for your kind gift of three French hens. Love Agnes.
December 17 - Dear Bob,Another present! Four calling birds. You are spoiling me. Love Lorraine.
December 18 - Dear Bob,Today your gift of five gold rings arrived. You are impossible - but I love you. Thank you. Frankly though, all the birds you have given me are beginning to get on my nerves with all their squawking. Your ever loving Lorraine.
December 19 - Dear Bob,I opened the door this morning to find six bloody great geese laying eggs on the doorstep. Where do you think I will be able to keep all these birds? The neighbours are complaining and I can't sleep for the noise. Please stop. Cordially, Lorraine.
December 20 - Bob,What is it with these sodding birds? Now I have swans-a-swimming. Is this your idea of a joke? The house is full of bird droppings and the racket is making me a nervous wreck. It's not funny. Stop sending bloody birds. Lorraine.
December 21 - OK Buster,What the hell am I going to do with eight maids a-milking? Now I've got eight cows crapping all over the house and mooing all night. Lay off, smartarse. Agnes.
December 22 - You rotten bastard,What are you - some kind of crazy? Now I've got nine pipers playing. And do they play. When they're not playing their bloody pips they're chasing the milkmaids through the cow shit. The cows are mooing and treading on the birds and the neighbours are threatening to have me evicted. You'll get yours. Lorraine.
December 23 - Shithead,Now there are ten ladies dancing. How anyone could call these whores ladies is beyond me. They're screwing the pipers all night long. The cows have diarrhoea, the living room is a river of shit and the council has declared the building a health hazard. Piss off. Lorraine.
December 24 - Listen dickhead,Eleven lords are now leaping all over the maids. The pipers are fighting the lords for the crumpet. The cows are still shitting and the birds are all dead and rotting. I hope you're satisfied, you swine. Lorraine.
December 25 - That's it!,The twelve drummers drumming have joined the pipers in making one hell of a bloody din. Christ knows what happened to the milkmaids. They've probably drowned in the cowshit by now. The only way I saved myself was by climbing the sodding pear tree which is so well fertilised it's grown through the roof. Bollocks, Lorraine.
Lorraine wouldn't have a bar of me after that. Reckon she caught that disease - what's it called... feminism? I'm buggered if I can understand women. Can you?
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