Dear mr McLaren Field I have recently had some painting done in my new house and being a gentleman bore warning to my mrs under no circumstances touch the upstairs bannister as it was still wet. Lo and behold I venture upstairs only to find the paintwork besmirched. What should I have done different?

The woman to whom I am apparently legally associated has a similar problem in that she will "test" drying paint by rubbing a finger in it, thus proving that its still not dry - as a method it works in the same way that setting fire to your house would alleviate the "who does the washing up" problem.



The only proven method to nip this in the bud is to get the little woman herself to do the decorating, I know that it appears to be beyond their life skills and its far removed from knitting, preparing your tea and gossiping over the garden gate, but with perseverance it can be achieved - your dog may learn to decorate before she does but she will eventually capitulate, throw down her "HELLO!" magazine one night and in exasperation storm upstairs with a paint pot and brush calling you all the euphemisms for "lazy buggah" in the world and set about painting the bannisters for herself.



Only then can you be sure that she will not criticize your painting skills, rub her finger along the bannister to test it, or even spray it with Pledge and start dusting it minutes after you have finished, it will take stoicism on your part, you will spend months, sometimes years of sitting on the sofa and repeating the refrain "I'll do it next weekend" but eventually your patience will be rewarded with that rarest of events - a woman who decorates.

And just for the record, The Lifelong Rules of Thumb again...



If a female does not offer to share the bill on a first date, then that should also be the last date, for mark my words, your poor dead wallet will henceforth forever lie in a foreign field called her handbag.



Do not ever drink in a pub with a flat roof.



Do not ever drink in a pub that needs "security" on the door.



Housework is the devils work, if you volunteer to do any of it she will expect you to do that deed. for ever, that is, for the rest of your life - and often from beyond the grave too.



Shopping for anything but cake is simply unacceptable and a vexation to the spirit.



Joint bank accounts are natures way of telling you that you have just been castrated and are now officially classed as female, have you ever noticed how many women work in banks, they rule the nations finances and reached this position of power by inventing joint bank accounts.



Do not ever accept an invitation to go and live in Whitley Bay, ever.

Thanks McF!

I went to Whitley Bay last year on a Stag night.



Very scary place. I thought Magalluff and Faliraki were bad....but Whitley Bay makes those places look like Morecambe!!

Whitley Bay was established as a bail hostel for those on home parole from Alcatraz.

There's a lighthouse near Whitley Bay which is one of the most beautiful places I've been to

You just haven't been far enough thats all.



This is a true story - I once shared workmens digs with a lad from Barnsley who was working to extend the sewage outfall pipe beyond the lighthouse, until then it spewed the whole of North Tynesides sewage out into the sea twenty yards away from that most beautiful place you've ever been to, you can see the pipe when you stand on the lighthouse rock at low tide.



He smelled lovely when he came back to the digs every night and didn't clean under his fingernails before tea either.

Poor lad

He once sat at the table one night and told us how he had seen the biggest turd in his life float past him when he was knee deep in sewage, he stopped it and measured it with a brick, one and a half bricks he said it was and just after that a flat cap floated past, he reckoned the bloke either wiped his [iar[/ise on the cap or died while laying the turd.



Our tea-times were very sophisticated affairs as you can probably tell.

Im off up there in a few weeks time, not sure i'll go turd searching

It's my birthday today Mr Field, I'm 24 now. I celebrated by losing money at Kinsley dog track on Saturday night.



Question is, is it acceptable to celebrate again tonight?