Welcome to my new weekly column. IÂ’m starting with some big news....
Sorry ladies... and gay men... and straight men and lesbians who for some reason want to marry me - IÂ’m getting married in April.
They said it would never happen. Actually, I said it would never happen. I believed I was a bachelor boy and thatÂ’s the way IÂ’d stay. In fact, IÂ’d live my whole life exactly like Cliff Richard: going from devil woman to devil woman, rollerskating everywhere, listening to my tape Walkman, going on holiday in a bus with Melvyn Hayes and eating only mistletoe and drinking only wine.
Cliff has never found the right woman and I think we all know why. I imagine itÂ’s because he has his pick of strange middle-aged groupies and who can blame him for not wanting to sample everything on that unsavoury smorgasboard? Not me. Nyum nyum nyum. Tuck in, Cliff.
But we canÂ’t all live our lives like the imaginary, immoral, babe-magnet Cliff Richard, though that final commitment is a biggie. Â“Forsaking all others as long as you both shall liveÂ”!? All others? ThatÂ’s a bit unrealistic. Plus itÂ’s the closest the church gets to inciting murder - Â“as long as you both shall live.... thereÂ’s a way out.....Â”
Marriage is a massive gamble. I have to ask myself, am I prepared to wager half of everything I own on this relationship working out? ItÂ’s not like I get double money if I win, I just get happiness. IÂ’m 44 years old and IÂ’ve managed to accrue some quite good stuff: a house, a car, a Bodum latte maker. If youÂ’re 19, what have you got to lose? Half a pack of Polos? I canÂ’t make a latte with half my latte maker missing.
To be fair, itÂ’s more a gamble for my fiancee because sheÂ’ll be ending up with me and I am a dick. SheÂ’s literally putting all of her eggs in one basket. And by my reckoning sheÂ’s only got about 120 eggs left.
But what I love about love is itÂ’s a leap of faith. Nobody knows what the future will bring , yet the time comes when we throw ourselves headlong into the abyss just believe that together we will fly. Or at least land on a mattress with minimal injuries.
When I met my fiancee I just knew that she was the one with whom IÂ’d take this bungee jump to oblivion. The first time I walked away from her I felt a magnetic force pulling me back towards her, IÂ’d gone weak at the knees as we spoke - which had only happened once before: when I was 23 I was in the BBC canteen and walked past the actress Jenny Agutter, who I had enjoyed as a teenager and the knees went (though I think that might just have been a muscle memory of all the times IÂ’d watched An American Werewolf in London).
My fiancee is beautiful, intelligent and funny. SheÂ’s way too good for me. Everyone else can see it, but not her. I like it and so I have to put a ring on it, before the madness lifts and she realises that a short, fat Charlie Boorman lookalike who refers to her as Â“itÂ”, is not the best she can do. In a few short weeks sheÂ’ll only be able to get out of this by killing me. Which is actually a pretty likely outcome.
I might gamble half my money on that if Ladbrokes will take the bet. Then IÂ’m covered. Either way, I canÂ’t lose!
Richard Herring is currently touring the UK with his show Â“What is Love, Anyway?Â” See www.richardherring.com for details.
See slightly copy-edited version at http://www.metro.co.uk/lifestyle/889545-richard-herring-im-getting-married-but-my-fiancees-way-too-good-for-me