It is my husband’s fault that I haven’t done much blogging of late. Earlier this month Andrew turned 40, and in the weeks leading up to his birthday every spare moment was spent compiling a special book for him.
Andrew didn’t want a personalised leather wash bag, a day driving a Ferrari at a racetrack or a birthday dinner at an eye-wateringly expensive restaurant. Annoyingly, he didn’t much care about what I, or the Not on The High Street website, thought he should want.
Because what Andrew wanted was a gun.
This is the cover of his birthday book.
The gun wasn’t really ever much of an argument, and although I tried really, really hard, he was as immoveable and bloody minded as a Shire horse who has decided, quite calmly, that it is not going to walk into a horsebox.
I do not like guns. I do not like them whether they’re being held by men or women. In fact I’ve always found the woman-holding-a-gun-as-sex-symbol thing quite disturbing. ‘Ooh, you’re about to maim something! Quick let’s have sex!’.
I don’t understand how anyone who hunts can feel anything other than embarrassed about a pack of adults mowing down animals as ginormous and fierce as foxes or pheasants. (I do understand that the fox population has to be kept under control. Which, funnily enough, is why I think farmers with guns are OK. Other farmers. Not my husband.)
Anyway, I thought I would share an excerpt from Andrew’s birthday gun book, which reflects the kinds of conversations we were having in the run up to his birthday. I think they’re a telling example of the differences in the male and female psyche:
‘…Being the kind, loving wife that she was, Helen tried on several occasions to understand the psychology behind Andrew’s desire for a gun…
Was it because he was afraid of something?
Was it down to some deep seated need to protect his family?
The tribal urge to defend his land?
No, insisted Andrew, it was not…