. . . or when the dream starts to become a reality . . .
I’m currently living in a caravan (trailer) round the back of the marital home. Yes, unfortunately I still have to breathe the same air as my soon-to-be ex-wife.
The caravan is, however, the height of luxury compared to my living conditions from before, being both dry and warm, with carpets, furniture and a bed, and without strange creatures crawling and living in it. As a bonus, it’s mine. Sorry, I tell a lie as somewhat perversely, it’s a marital asset. My attitude is tough s~~~ and ‘sue me’. She who must be obeyed disapproves of this and has tried on a few occasions to force entry.
If all goes according to plan, mid-April is the date of my release. ?
The ‘escape plan’ came about purely by accident. My wife discovered by chance (?) that she was in fact entitled to a full state pension (UK) and that she had unwittingly (?) deferred claiming it for the last 4 ½ years or so. She’d built up a sizeable lump sum.
She had plans for this money, which involved her horsey lifestyle (of course). Naturally, I was going to make all of her plans a reality (free of charge), as I am her husband and in accordance with the previous 14 years together.
Prior to this, I had just finished a couple of months of continuous hard slog, completely refurbishing the kitchen in the holiday home (cupboards, worktops, floor, ceiling, new equipment, lighting, sockets, extractor, cooker, radiators etc.). On the final day I fell asleep from exhaustion at 4am and was back to it at 7am because guests were coming to stay.
Immediately after the guests left, I renovated the bottom-end breakfast/larder area with new floors, radiators and lighting etc. Finally, I entirely transformed the outside toilet/back hall. Through out the process, I kept asking my wife to not plan any more major projects for the foreseeable future, as I needed a change of pace.
After this, I took 3 days off and stayed at my favourite campsite.
When I returned, my jaw hit the deck. The kitchen that I had lovingly built several years previously in our cottage, complete with huge Victorian fireplace/chimney, had vanished.
In it’s place was a sizeable mountain of new timber, cupboards, sink, taps and units, sockets and wiring. I repeated that I’d asked for no more major projects for a while. She replied that it ‘wasn’t a major project’.
That was ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’.
I immediately enlisted one of those online divorce companies, who got the ball rolling. The wife of course retaliated with a solicitor who tried her best to convince me that I was wasting my time and the most I could hope for was the shirt on my back. Incredibly she even came round the house and offered to represent both of us! Of course, she quickly left with her tail between her legs when I informed her that firstly, it was unethical, and secondly it created a conflict of interest. The wife began crying and asked why I was being ‘so awkward’.
Later, she refused to disclose her finances. I obtained a court order so that she’d do so. That’s when I discovered she’d also (somehow?) been spiriting large chunks of income into a separate savings account.
Through my solicitor, the choice of handing over the pension and savings lump sums (plus 2 years of monthly maintenance payments) was given, or the houses would be surveyed and valued and sold. The good wife has always been terrified of having the place surveyed and valued for some reason (I don’t believe for one moment her claim that it’s worthless). Of course her business and lifestyle would end as well. Besides, I was prepared to ‘dig in’ for the long haul.
The wife naturally insists that I’m a user, a bi-polar sufferer/narcissist/autistic/control freak, and that this was my plan all along – to take her for every penny. I’ve tried to explain to her that she is the real ‘winner’ here, as she gets to keep the houses, the business and her lifestyle.
A rather amusing development is that she recently began a strange relationship with a deeply religious woman in America on Facebook, who specialises in the occult and the removal of evil. Apparently, the wife remains convinced that I have in fact been ‘occupied’ by Satan himself. Most of the doorways and my personal possessions (motorbike, kayak, guitars, cameras, books etc) now have tiny crosses painted on them with clear nail varnish.
She also attempted to perform a ritual involving a black candle and some reversing oil (whatever that is), and has tried her utmost to get me to see a priest. She often now attends courses at a nearby Buddhist temple. She is the most un-spiritual person I have ever encountered. Correct me if I’m wrong but did I ever mention at some point in the past, that it’s a bit weird living with my wife? ?
As I say, she has approved the draft of the agreement and it’s now being typed up as I write this. Fingers crossed she signs the bloody thing, then it and the forms (and another fee) will be sent to the court and as I say, parole day should be mid-April (ish).
In the meantime and in the interest of peace, sanity and to fill the days, I’ve been pottering away on her kitchen. So far I’ve constructed a timber ‘cage’ lining the walls, with a hand pitched suspended ceiling thing (covering up my splendid beams with riveted steel joining plates). I’ve nearly completed the plaster boarding and have installed new wiring, ring mains, sockets, lights etc.
Of course the wife takes all of this in her stride, as she believes we are still a couple (I would say authority figure and slave). She’s also made it quite clear that we are to remain friends and that I will be on hand at a moments notice in the future, if ever she gets stuck etc.
In the interest of remaining alive and/or healthy, I of course assure her that this will be the case . . .
The settlement isn’t what I could’ve expected had I gone the ‘long way round’, but it was the most realistic option under the circumstances and after my solicitor had laid the cards on the table.
The main concern was my mental and physical health (physical especially), which was deteriorating rapidly. In the last 10 years (I’m 49) I’ve aged 20-25 years at least. Since distancing myself as much as possible, things have improved immeasurably. To quote former Chief-Inspector Dreyfus from the Pink Panther films, “Every day and in every way, I’m getting better and better.”
The shorter route and cutting my losses was the most attractive option. Ultimately, I will be able to afford a tidy place to live and one that won’t need loads of work.
I’ll also have a reasonable ‘safety zone’ in the bank and an income from the maintenance payments. My living costs will as minimalistic as it’s possible to get, without living on the street in a cardboard box. Therefore I’ll be able to save the greater majority of the monthly payments.
A further bonus is that I’ve discovered I will be entitled to an almost-full state pension.
One sobering revelation was that despite working like a whore for the past 14 years, and playing an equal role in bringing in a tidy income, I’ve been classed as unemployed since 2003.
I have one image of a utopia in my head at the moment that keeps me going, one that encompasses when everything is done and dusted. I just hope that the sense of relief isn’t so huge, I end up ‘popping my clogs’.
April can’t come soon enough and I plan to take a short break, walking and camping around the nearby national park and over a few mountains for a month or so.
Looking back on where the last 14 years have gone, one word keeps popping up in my head with increasing regularity (and I apologise): –
F~~~ !
F~~~ !!!
F~~~ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Stay vigilant. They're everywhere.
Clint Eastwood 2 years, 12 months ago.
