Being A Guy

I often hear women saying things like “You don’t know how lucky you are being a man.”

I kind of agree with this because the truth is I absolutely love being a guy.

I have been a guy for 54 years (and counting) and I have loved every second of it. Mrs PM also claims that being a woman is fantastic – but I have no experience of that so can’t possibly comment. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of an irate Mrs PM.

Having said that, I may just risk that with this post. I recently rediscovered a humorous list from the 1990s which listed 100 reasons why it’s great to be a guy. Whilst it is meant to be a joke list, there are some elements of truth in it.

I thought I would share some of my favourite reasons from that list with you.

1. Phone calls last only 30 seconds.

This is true. When Mrs PM talks to her mum she is on the phone for what seems like hours. I don’ actually know what they talk about but I daren’t ask. If I were to ask she would reproduce the entire conversation to me including her thoughts, her mum’s thoughts and, worse, she would ask my opinion on everything – which could lead to danger if I said something wrong.

Conversely, when I make a phone call I am short and to the point – as is the man on the other end of the phone. If happens to be a woman then I can struggle to make the call last 30 seconds. Either way, Mrs PM usually wants to know exactly what was said, my thoughts, the other person’s thoughts etc.

I have no idea why. And if I say “don’t be nosey” I can get into serious trouble.

2. A five day holiday only requires one suitcase.

I only pack what is necessary for the holiday, which usually means that I have the minimum packed away. If I run out of stuff, I can buy some more. I don’t plan what I am going to wear every day – I just wear it.

Women on the other hand pack their entire wardrobe into the suitcase (or suitcases) and are oblivious to weight limits on aircraft. The argument seems to be that they don’t know what they are going to wear so they have to have a choice – for every single day. Worse, the entire contents of the cosmetic bag and bathroom have to fit in too – as well as the army of shoes.

I once travelled abroad for business with a woman and we were going for just two days. I had a tiny suitcase that I could take on the aircraft as hand luggage. She had a huge suitcase that had to be checked in. Being the gentleman that I am I also hauled the bloody thing around when we arrived.

I didn’t dare ask what she had in there – in case she either thumped me or listed the contents and the reasons why she felt the need to pack her entire house into a tiny suitcase.

3. Haircuts are cheap.

When I get my hair cut I usually say “Short at the back and sides and slightly curly on top please.”  The whole thing is over in about five minutes and costs about £8.

Women, on the other hand, are totally ripped off even if they want a trim and can expect to pay at least £20, rising up even more if something more sinister is involved, like dye.

I once went to a unisex hairdresser with my ex-wife. All she wanted was a trim the same as me. She paid about three times the amount that I did.

Why is that?

4. You can get ready in ten minutes.

If Mrs PM and I are going out, she usually starts getting ready an hour before we are due to leave, leaving me downstairs watching TV. As she is preparing herself, she shouts downstairs at ten minute intervals.

“Are you going to get ready?”

Finally, ten minutes before, I go upstairs, take a quick shower and change. I am ready before her as well.

This infuriates her. I love it.

5. Hot wax never comes near to your body.

At work, for charity, we persuaded my boss to have his legs waxed for charity. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. He flinched and grimaced and yelped as his leg hair was ripped from his skin with maximum prejudice.

The women we work with had front row seats and kept saying “Now you know how we feel.”

I can safely say that this will never ever happen to me.

And, I have to ask, why on earth would any human being put themselves through such a traumatic experience?

I think that’s enough for now – but bear in mind there are 100 in total. I may share some of them with you in future.

Watch Them And Weep

My two lads and I were forced by Mrs PM to watch a terrible movie at the cinema. It was payback for us dragging her to see a full on action film the previous month.

The film was Marley and Me, a movie about the relationship between a man and his dog. While funny in places, the basic purpose of the film was to take a hold of your heartstrings and wrench them as hard as possible, opening the tear ducts and allowing them to dispose of their contents in a flood down your face.

I sometimes hate those kind of films because although they are primarily targetted at women, they have an effect on men too.

Not all tear-jerkers are bad films. I can see the merits of some of them. For example, The Elephant Man, made me blub like a baby but it was an excellent film.

I challenge anyone not to shed a tear over this scene from the film:

My problem is that I do not like to watch sad films as a rule. I prefer to feel uplifted and happy when the closing credits start. After Marley and Me, I felt wretched, cheated and pissed off.

Needless to say, Mrs PM loved the film. As we left the cinema, my two lads were moaning that there were much better films on the other screens. Mrs PM simply wiped tears from her eyes and told us why we were all wrong. The film had everything she wanted; romance, comedy and sadness.

While I like comedy, the bias in Marley and Me was clearly towards those who wanted to blub into their popcorn.

Like many men, I am confused by this need for the fairer sex to crave misery in movies. I simply don’t understand why feeling sadness and grief during and after a film is a good thing. The kind of films I watch have lots of death and destruction but the emotions are stifled in favour of the good guys being triumphant over the bad guys.

My kind of film

The long drawn out death of a Labrador, while its owner talks to it as if it were a human being is just not something I want to have to endure as the climax to a movie that is at best a poor romantic comedy.

However, an article in last week's Sunday Times has gone some way to explaining why such movie scenes are more appealing to women than they are to men.

Evidently, tear-jerkers allow women to bond with their friends. The theory is that watching a movie filled with abject misery is a way for a woman to share a more positive emotional experience with her female friends, resulting in a positive bonding experience.

I suppose it goes a long way to explaining things to a man like me who has no idea why a long drawn out weepy would make you feel positive in any way whatsoever.

I guess, in a similar way, a typical bloke movie like, for example, The Fast and The Furious franchise cause men to bond. While the plots and action scenes may require a massive suspension of disbelief, the amazing stunts will produce as much testosterone in men as the tears produced in women by a half-decent weepy.

Perhaps this also explains why men do not want to show their emotions in public when watching a weepy. When I watched The Elephant Man for the first time, I was on my own in the house and I cried continually. Had I seen it in a cinema, or even with Mrs PM, I would almost certainly have suppressed my tears.

Does this mean that I am an emotional Neanderthal?

Not at all.

Maybe it’s just a personal thing but I think most men do not like to show their emotions and anything that tries to force the issue is not a good thing. That’s not to say I won’t ever watch another weepy again; I will just watch it on my own or, grudgingly, with Mrs PM and a handkerchief to cover any tears under the pretence of having a sniffle.

That said, Mrs PM has seen me blub at a film. I remember one Christmas Eve, when we had been out for lunch and a couple of beers. I was slightly merry from the alcohol and we opted to relax in the Christmas spirit with the classic movie It’s a Wonderful Life. I think, because I had had a couple of beers, my defences were down and the two of us sat on the sofa and cried our eyes out.

It's not a bad film and not the kind I would normally watch,  but at least it was uplifting and totally got me in the mood for Christmas despite the blubbing. Had I been with a bunch of mates, we would probably have watched an explosive action movie with gallons of beer and testosterone, cheering every explosion and punching the air as the hero punched the villain.

Dear female reader, if you think I am an emotionless buffoon, you are wrong. I have deep emotions but the idea of having them brought out by a weepy movie in front of mates is an abhorrent concept to me. I consider that to be a trait for most if not all men – so I am not alone.

To be honest,  a good piece of music stirs my deep emotions probably more than a tired, contrived tear-jerker aimed to stir female emotions.

But that’s a tale for another post.

So what about you, dear reader?

Guys, am I wrong when I describe what men think of tear-jerkers?

Ladies, do you think I’m an emotionless idiot?

Hopefully, this will go some way to help me on my quest to understand the fairer sex.

Nevertheless, I still have a long way to go.

What Women Want

I don’t read women’s magazines. I need to state that at the beginning of this post.

Occasionally, however, Mrs PM does buy such magazines and leaves them within reach (perhaps on purpose).

Regular readers will know that I simply do not understand women, but strive to do so. And in order to research what makes women tick, I sometimes take the bait and pick up one of Mrs PM’s magazines to see if I can get inside the female brain in my quest to discover the key to the secret.

On Sunday I picked up such a magazine and found an article that made me laugh.

It was entitled: The Good Husband Guide and it listed 10 things that men have supposedly learnt to keep their women happy. I thought it would be a bit of fun for me to comment on each and every point – from a male perspective.

Feel fancied

According to the author, women want their husbands to fancy them. Even though they may feel under the weather, bloated, bad time of the month etc., apparently nothing makes a woman more happy then the knowledge that her man is like a coiled spring, fighting a constant battle with himself not to tear his clothes off and ravage her because she is so utterly attractive.

While this may be something that can keep a woman happy, the phrase “No – I’m too tired” or “No – I’m not in the mood” or “Put your clothes back on, you arse; my mum’s coming round in 10 minutes” do make a man feel rather inadequate.

Talking Is Important

This highlights for me one of the main differences between men and women. Women love to talk, to analyse every nuance, every small piece of information available, every scrap of insignificant news and every aspect of every feeling that is going around inside a man’s brain.

Men don’t talk. Men don’t like talking.

To a man, such conversations are pointless.

If you want a man to have a decent conversation, try talking about sport, cars or books – and not about why Susan’s been feeling low this week.

Never criticise

When shopping with Mrs PM, she sweeps out of the changing room with a new dress and says “What do you think? I want you to be brutally honest!” 

I am under pressure because there are other women present and watching with interest as well as other men, also suffering from my predicament, who are chuckling inside knowing that there is no correct answer to the question.

It is like being asked: “Do you want me to stab you in the chest or shoot you in the nether regions?”

Each answer involves extreme pain.

I trust Mrs PM and have foolishly been brutally honest:

“It makes you look like an old woman. It is more like a sack than a dress. You are in your early 40’s not early 60’s. Put it back.”

The fact that I am still here today typing this is due to the fact that I can run faster than Mrs PM and I have threatened to sell the cats to our local Cruella De Ville if she hurts me in any way.

Don’t back us into a corner

The question in the previous list item is a superb example of women backing men into a corner. Why shouldn’t we do it back?

The author’s point here is that men shouldn’t be flippant over serious issues. I use humour to dissolve tense situations generally but apparently I should stop doing this. And under no circumstances should I say something like “Calm down. It was only a vase!”

That is a sure fire way to pain.

Don’t be a total pushover

Men should fight back and not let women completely dominate them – at least that is what the author is saying.

To me, this seems a difficult thing to achieve, particularly since women are unpredictable – at least that’s what I think (yes – I am that stupid). Mrs PM is very sure of herself and extremely confident. I, on the other hand, am a stubborn, grumpy old git and for the past 20 years or so I have never let anybody push me around.

I think Mrs PM knows how far she can push before I get my soapbox out. The prize of getting her own way sometimes comes at too high a price, particularly when I mutate into a ranting leviathan.

Some things are just not worth it.

If you can’t be romantic, don’t be unromantic

What is it with women and romance? I am romantic but my definition of romance simply does not match the definition of the word in a woman’s dictionary. If Mrs PM wants some romance in the middle of the big game on TV – what should I do? Should I switch off the TV, put on some romantic music and cuddle her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear?

I don’t want to appear selfish but there is a time and a place for everything.

Romance, in my view, is fine, but when the urge for such activities clashes with man stuff – we need a bit of give and take.

Balance is the key ... except some women don’t always see it that way.

Have the same attitude to money as we do

Excuse me but no. I am very careful with money and even though I occasionally go out and buy a gadget, I don’t own more than four pairs of shoes, have a wardrobe full of clothes that I will only wear once, or a room full of cuddly toys that are “too cute to resist so I had to buy them all”.

I will spend money on Mrs PM – but I won’t break the bank. That would be stupid. Thankfully, Mrs PM is also fairly sensible with money.

Be prepared to play the “Daddy” role

What? WHAT?? WHAT?????? 

When I first read this I thought the author was a pervert – but it means that women expect men to take control when it suits them.

This is a bit rich. What it means really is that women want to be in control – until they say we can have a bit of power.

It’s like saying “I have your spine – you can borrow it to sort out the mortgage – and then I want it back - IMMEDIATELY.”

Again – balance is the key.

I am in charge of my relationship with Mrs PM – as long as she says I can be.

Be the sort of bloke who can shop in Ikea and watch the Twilight Movies

My punishment for dragging Mrs PM to see The Avengers earlier this year, is to accompany her to see the fifth and final Twilight film. I haven’t seen the fourth one yet – which means that I have to go the DVD rental shop, rent it out ON MY OWN, watch it ON MY OWN and then go to the pictures with her to see it.

I HATE the Twilight films. They make vampires look like fluffy declawed kittens that have had their teeth removed.

But I will do this because I am a man of my word – and there are a few other movies I want to inflict upon my beloved Mrs PM.

As for shopping at Ikea – FORGET IT!!

Be Reliable

My name is Plastic Reliable Mancunian. I will never ever let my beloved Mrs PM down. She knows that.

And that is all that counts.

Conclusion

What I found incredible about this article was that it appeared in a women’s magazine. Surely, if women want their men to change, to be more romantic, to be a reliable “daddy” who never criticises and gushes over toothless vampires while shopping at Ikea, surely the best thing to do would be to publish it in a men’s magazine between an article on the latest super car and the latest must have gadget.

Men might actually take notice.

Men's Problems - Women

I like to live dangerously and this is probably as dangerous as it gets. If I haven’t alienated the female members of the human race already, I certainly could do after this post.

I want to talk about women, yet again, but this time I want to discuss how the fair sex can be a problem to men. As much as we love them, they can be a major headache for us - sometimes.

As I have said before, I really struggle to get my head around the female sex, but I know that I am not alone. In fact, I will go further and say that no man alive really understands women. Any man who claims to is a fibber, and a big one at that.

I have moments of delusion when the antics of Mrs PM and other women appear to make perfect sense. When such moments occur, I celebrate and say to myself: at last, finally, I know what goes on in the female brain. My euphoria is usually short lived because Mrs PM stuns me by reacting totally different to expectation, crushing my jubilation to an embarrassing pulp.

But it’s worse than that because understanding women is not the only problem for men; it’s the whole female package. What do I mean by that? Allow me to elaborate.

Like most men, I love to admire a beautiful woman. I do so subconsciously, my eyes driven by a primeval force that I can’t control. Most men are the same.

Many years ago, when I was a young idiot, a female friend and I were chatting when the conversation drifted towards a mutual acquaintance.

“He’s a nice guy,” she said, “but he is a total letch.”

“A letch?” I asked. “What do you mean? What’s a letch?”

“Well when he’s talking to me, he doesn’t look at my face.”

Puzzled (and stupid) I probed further.

“That’s a bit rude isn’t it? Or maybe he’s just shy. I’m a bit like that – I tend to look away sometimes when talking to people.”

“Oh he’s definitely NOT shy,” she said. “When he talks to me, he just stares at my boobs.”

“Ah!” I stuttered.

And my eyes were suddenly drawn to her boobs. I couldn’t help myself; I was a young testosterone-fuelled male, listening to a female complaining about a man who stared at her like she was an object of lust – and I was doing exactly the same. I tried to force my eyes upwards to her face but all I could focus on was her cleavage. It was as if I had two devils sitting on my shoulders.

“Cop an eyeful of those,” growled the demon.

“Look at her face; she will despise you,” said the angel.

In my defence, I couldn’t help myself. Any heterosexual man who claims that he doesn’t stare at attractive women is an absolute liar. That’s a bold statement but I consider it to be absolutely true.

In my youth, I would walk down the street analysing every single women who walked past me, eyeing each one up and down; her hair, her face, her boobs, her figure, her legs, her overall shape and imagining how wonderful it would be to be walking next to this attractive creature with my arm around her waist, smelling her wonderful perfume. My imagination sometimes ran amok.

Even though I was in a relationship, I simply couldn’t help myself. Having listened to my female friend complaining about lechers, I became self-conscious and forced myself not to stare. But sometimes (most times if I am perfectly honest) I failed spectacularly. When confronted by a hideously ugly bloke with his tongue dragging on the floor, leering like a starving bulldog leaving a trail of dribble behind like a monstrous slug, most women simply looked away. Others glared with venom in their eyes and violence in their thoughts.

Nowadays, of course, I don’t look like some manic sexually charged animal; however, I still appreciate a beautiful woman and although I am in my mid-forties I find myself occasionally appreciating the beauty of women in their twenties. It can be embarrassing though if my eyes rebel and drift up and down their bodies as they are talking to me. I try my best to look into their eyes – but that too can get me into trouble. The only thing that has changed since my youthful days is that I still find many women in their forties gorgeous as well.

You will often hear the old adage that says that men think about sex approximately every seven seconds. This is utter bilge; when I was young I never ever stopped thinking about sex; every young woman I met was a potential conquest. It was just a pity that I didn’t have the means to win those battles. If a woman were to somehow manage to get past my ape-like features, my “witty banter” poured forth like a wave of demented twaddle. I didn’t know how to talk to women so how could I make one love me?

Of course, as you have probably gathered, I managed to find myself a woman crazy enough to put up with me (something else I have never understood). Once I had overcome that barrier I was delighted. Something slotted into place within and I became a different person.

Thus, I moved from being an idiotic sex-crazed baboon to being a contented young man happy to settle down with a woman who loved me; and a new challenge arose and slapped me across the face.

Living with a woman is a massively rewarding experience and I wouldn’t change many things. I would however give anything to solve the particular problems that the experience of living together creates. They are not massive problems by any means but I do feel powerless to react. I’m an educated person who loves to solve problems; but I am frustrated because the solutions to these particular conundrums elude me.

Here are a few examples:

Why does a woman dress to impress other women instead of other men? I discovered this disturbing trait fairly recently. We were going out with a couple of friends and all of the women complemented each other on how they were dressed. Mrs PM had changed her clothes several times before going out and each time I said “You look gorgeous. What’s the problem?”

She confessed that she had to look better than her friends – or at least as good as them. As a man this was a completely alien concept to me. I would have gone out in jeans and a T-shirt if I could have done and I wouldn’t have cared one jot what my mates thought about my attire. Yet she, and all the other women were desperate to impress each other and not the guys who were there.

Why do two men chat to each other on the phone for about twenty seconds and women for about twenty hours?

Why does Mrs PM hide clothes that she doesn’t want me to wear? Mrs PM feels a desperate urge to approve any clothes that I buy. If, for some reason, I manage to escape to a clothes shop without her being present, and then buy something she hasn’t vetted, I can guarantee that if she doesn’t like it, she will remove it from my wardrobe and hide it somewhere. And she will lie to me as well.

Me: “What do you think of this shirt?”

Mrs PM (through gritted teeth):”It’s … erm … nice. Why did you buy it?”

Me: “I like it. Why do you ask?”

Mrs PM: “Erm no reason”

A week later you can guarantee it has gone missing.

Me: “Where’s that yellow shirt I bought last week?”

Mrs PM: “What yellow shirt?”

Me: “The one I bought last week that you said was nice.”

Mrs PM: “Yellow doesn’t suit you. Put on the blue shirt.”

Me:”You’ve hidden it haven’t you?”

Mrs PM: “No!” …”Yes! I hate it! It makes you look like an anaemic window dummy!”

Another bone of contention is doing stuff around the house. I’ve learned that little things really matter. For example, if a man spends the whole day decorating the room, he can suffer because he has only done one thing. Why for example, didn’t he do the washing up? This particular problem may not be true of all women, but I do know that if on a Saturday, I get up and spend two hours hoovering , cleaning the kitchen and loading the dishwasher, Mrs PM will be happier than if I spend three hours washing the cars. Why? Because I have completed three tasks instead of just the one.

I’m sure that not all women are like this but some, like Mrs PM, definitely are.

What about when you say the wrong thing? Mrs PM and I don’t argue very much at all but when we do it is usually because I have somehow put my foot in it by saying something I think is perfectly reasonable and totally truthful, yet somehow it pushes the anger button within Mrs PM’s psyche. The end result is that I am berated for something I simply do not understand; when I protest my innocence it is like trying to put out a fire with a nuclear warhead. The snowball effect has nothing on these arguments.

I’ve learned to shut up and let Mrs PM burn herself out. And then, most of the time, I can repair the damage with a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates or a cuddly toy.

See what I mean? Women can sometimes be so illogical that they give men an horrific headache.

Regular readers will probably be thinking:

“For heaven’s sake, Plastic Moron! Women aren’t that difficult to understand. Are you completely deranged? Are you just stupid? Will you please stop going on about women?”

To those people I say this:

I may be stupid but I need to understand women. The theme of this post implies that women are a problem for men. They are definitely not – not really - well sometimes.

What I am trying to do is to draw your attention, dear female reader, to the fact that we simply do not understand you and, that you simply do not understand us back.

We stare and gawp at gorgeous women because we love looking at the beautiful female form. Although some of us may be lechers, the majority are not but are driven by a primeval urge. Our goals are different from yours.

When we live with women, they think that we are lazy good-for-nothing emotionless imbeciles with no compassion who simply want to drink or watch and play sports. There is some truth in that but again we can’t help it. While a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates will make ladies happy, just letting a man go to the toilet with a newspaper for ten minutes will make him happy. While you want to spend three hours on the phone chatting to your best friend about emotional issues, we are quite happy to get a mate round and watch the big game with several cans of beer and testosterone-fuelled aggression.

When your man screams during a football match because his team have just conceded a goal, don’t scold him because he has spilled beer on the floor. Embrace him and make him feel better. Don’t ask stupid questions like “which team is winning?” or “who’s playing?” or “what a good goal that was. Was that your team?”

When your man hoovers the house, don’t scold him for not loading the dishwasher and filling the washing machine. He will do it next time if you thank him.

When a man stares at you in the street, it is because you are beautiful, not because he is a lecherous drooling baboon (even if I am – I can’t help it).

We should embrace our differences and try to understand each other.

If any women are annoyed by this post, please understand that this is not my intention. I adore women and I respect them with all my heart. Women are beautiful, kind, intelligent creatures and I love you all to bits. I have also ignored something a friend of mine once said:

“All women, without exception, are mad.”

He simply has bigger problems than me understanding the fairer sex. Don’t be too hard on him – he is a goon. That sentiment certainly does not exist on this blog (although it may seem the case sometimes).

I’m off now to watch the big game. I will require the following items:

A TV and a can of beer and a lot of patience (for when Mrs PM comes in and asks me why I didn’t dust when I hoovered earlier today).

Men Versus Women

I often generalise about women (much to Mrs PM’s disgust) and despite the criticism I stand by what I say.

Women are fundamentally different from men.

I’m not just talking about appearance (even I know that); I’m talking about outlook on life, reaction to ideas, inner thought processes, goals – just about everything in fact. Mrs PM sometimes accuses me of being sexist, but I think I’m being observant. We are different creatures.

I’d like to prove this to Mrs PM and to any other people out there who disagree with me. One item of proof is that fabulous book written about the differences between men and women:

“Men Are From Earth; Women Are From a Completely Different Galaxy in an Alternate Reality”

Once more I have trawled the internet for evidence, not only for your benefit, dear reader, but also to prove that I am correct. Here’s what I have observed and discovered:

SOCIAL GATHERINGS

When women get together, they basically sit and talk all night about anything and everything. What’s more they actually listen to each other and do care about what is said. They also want to know the intimate details of absolutely everything about the other females present.

When men get together, they barely talk about anything other than sport, the women they fancy or beer. The most used phrases on a lad’s night out are: “It’s your round” and “I’ll have a pint of bitter.” If a man starts talking about his innermost feelings he is ignored in favour of discussions about changes to the offside rule.

CINEMA AND THE MOVIES

Women will quite happily sit watching a romantic comedy like “An Officer and a Gentleman” or “Dirty Dancing”. They will cry and laugh at the same time. The hero will be a hopeless romantic (barely like any real man) and will sweep the heroine off her feet at the end of the film and ride of with her into the sunset to start the happiest family in the world ever.

Men will go to see an all out action film, starring Sly Stallone, Arnie Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, Hugh Jackman, Tom Cruise (as long as it’s not a romantic movie) or preferably all of them. The movie will be thin on plot but high on explosives and will feature a plethora of gratuitous sex and violence throughout.

GROWING OLD

Women grow moustaches when they grow old.

Men grow boobs.

GETTING MARRIED

When a woman gets married she spends 99% of the time thinking about every aspect of the big day; the dress, the ceremony, the flowers, the meal, the romance of it all.

When a man gets married he thinks about the stag party.

TELEPHONE

When a woman calls another woman on the phone, they will discuss life, the Universe and everything for hours and hours on end.

When a man calls another man on the phone, the conversation goes something like this:

MAN1: What time are you going to the pub?

MAN2: 8 o’clock at the Red Lion.

MAN1: See you there.

SHOES

The average woman owns 351 pairs of shoes.

The average man owns one pair of shoes and a pair of trainers.

FRIENDS

Women will compliment their friends. Sometimes they mean it; sometimes they will compliment even when they are envious and think that their friends have a better outfit.

Men insult their friends constantly. Four men in a pub will call each other names like “Fatso”, “Boghead”, “Squeaky” and “Troll”.

BATHROOMS

Women have 2451 items in the bathroom cabinet. Men do not understand what 2445 of them are.

Men have six items (five if they use an electric razor).

SUCCESS

A successful man is a high earner who makes more money than his wife can spend.

A successful woman is one who can find such a man.

LOVE

A woman wants a knight in shining armour; a man who is full of romance and will carry her off to heaven in a tsunami of flowers, cuddly animals and soft music.

Men just want to have sex.

DIRECTIONS

If a woman is lost, she will stop and ask the nearest person which way to go.

If a man is lost he will drive around for hours, convinced that he is on the right track; he will be oblivious to the fact that he may be driving around in circles: “I didn’t know there were THREE Houses of Parliament in London …”

MOODS

Women have an infinite amount of moods depending on various combinations of external influence. Men understand none of them.

Men have three – horny, hungry and tired.

PERFECT DATE

The perfect date for a woman involves the man treating her like a princess throughout the date. He will be thoughtful, complimentary, chivalrous, romantic and supportive. He will wine her, dine her, listen to her, understand her, be at one with her and be her soulmate. She will be able to confess anything to him and he will be understanding and sympathetic. He will be generous and give her gifts.

The perfect date for a man involves sport, TV, beer, stupidity, games and sex.

GETTING READY

Women take an eon to prepare themselves for a night out, planning the outing meticulously using colour coordination to ensure that every aspect of make-up, perfume and clothing complement each other perfectly to make her the most glamorous princess in the world. This task takes hours and hours and she will change her mind and her clothing often.

Men take five minutes and care more about that first beer than their appearance.

There are many more things I can talk about, and probably will do in future posts. Do you agree with what I’ve said above? I know that most men will do but this post will be seen as controversial to women, and maybe I will be treated as a sexist pig. To be honest, I’m not. I love women and I embrace the differences – it’s what makes them interesting to me.

I still don’t understand them but I am getting there.

What Is Love, Anyway?

Today’s post is a minor diversion from my usual inane mutterings.

I’ve been reading a lot of blogs recently where people elucidate their feelings about the mystery surrounding love. It’s not the kind of thing I would normally write about or even hold a conversation about to be honest. However, some of the beautiful things I have read in the past few weeks have inspired me to attempt to explain what love means to me.

As a man, this may prove to be difficult because as a rule men aren’t very good at talking about romance or the "L" word. When guys get together we rarely talk about our relationships. We are happy to talk about work, football, cricket and cars but as soon as the subject of love comes up, a strange shroud of discomfort descends and all concerned quickly revert back to chatting about the big game next week. I used to be married and when it fell apart I found that I couldn’t talk to my friends because they really didn’t want to know – or if they did, they could offer no advice and were reluctant to be the shoulder that I needed. Furthermore, I didn’t know how to talk to them. Don’t get me wrong; they were aware of how I felt but thought that the problem could be solved by a hearty slap on the back and another pint of the landlord’s famous ale.

That was a long time ago,

Now, however, if I were to tell my male friends how much I love Mrs PM, the subject would be changed as soon as is humanly possible, even as quickly as the next sentence. Therefore I don’t talk about love to guys. And guys don’t talk about love to me.

Women on the other hand talk about it all the time. I don’t want that to sound like I am generalizing but that is my understanding based on conversations I have heard and from what Mrs PM has told me. Just the other week, I was in a pub and I couldn’t help eaves-dropping a conversation between two young women who were discussing their partners over a bottle of wine. I didn’t know the two women but the conversation was compelling; I immediately realised that each of them was very keen to sing the praises of their men and do so in great detail. It made me feel slightly ashamed because I know that two men would never do that. They may chat about women, their partners even, but it would not be so open and emotional. There are some exceptions I sure but I am convinced that’s the way we are.

Back to the subject in hand: allow me to go against the grain and talk about what love means to me.

Love is impossible to describe and furthermore it can be difficult to differentiate between the various aspects of love. For me, my relationship with Mrs PM has evolved over the ten years we have been together.

When we first met, there was an immediate bond. I knew fairly quickly that this wonderful woman was the fabled “one”. Until that moment I was sceptical about people I had heard talking about “the one”. Mrs PM was my soul mate and when we first got together I was swept away on a tsunami of obsession. She occupied my every thought and for a short time I was worried that I was a victim of infatuation. When I was with her I was deliriously happy; when we were apart I pined for here like a man lost in the wilderness.

As the months went by, the obsession faded and something more meaningful took its place. I was still delighted in her company and I missed each moment apart but I came to terms with her absence, looking forward to the time we would be together again.

Over the years, we have in many ways become even closer. To describe Mrs PM as my soul mate is an understatement. She is witty (far wittier than I am), intelligent (far smarter than I am) and she understands me more than I do myself. We talk for hours about everything. I would do anything for her – indeed I have humiliated myself just to make her happy on several occasions (read about it here. I am happy to support her when she needs a shoulder to cry on simply because when she is down I am too. I am a verbal punch bag when she needs to let off steam.

Without Mrs PM I would be an empty shell. When I am returning from a business trip my heart is filled with a strange fuzzy warmth when I think about seeing her again. She is my best friend.

After all this time together, my feelings are as strong now as they ever were. In November we are returning to Hong Kong, where our relationship started to celebrate our tenth anniversary. I can’t wait; neither can Mrs PM.

Normal blogging service will be resumed in the next post but I hope that in the meantime you get an understanding of what love means to a forty six year old Mancunian. I’m sure many men feel the same way – but just don’t like to talk about it. Maybe we should open up a little more.