Abracadabra

Marriage failure averted/postponed Husband and I thought a short period of intense communication was needed to talk through a few things. So we sat down one evening, just the two of us a bottle of wine and a Barry Manilow CD and actually talked. Husband explained that he got a lot out of his sporting life and appreciated the fact that I supported him and our son in their sporting efforts, although my acerbic comments at inopportune moments were hard to bear at times. I told him that I occasionally enjoyed a day watching football, and was more than happy to go to cricket matches. I would appreciate it if he would make more of an effort with the dance classes, didn’t go round to see Guido and Stephanie at home and kept a bit of distance between himself and Brandi, which he was more than happy to do, with the caveat that he was a man and that as he grew older he had a duty to be more curmudgeonly with each passing year, it is what men do, a form of mid life” enlightenment” not quite an epiphany but a slow realisation that some things in day to day life are a load of rubbish and don’t do what they say on the packet.
Anyway the evening progressed with talk of how we used to be and what we had dreamt of doing. I had always hoped that I would one day read the News at Ten or write a television series. He admitted that he still had dreams of playing professional football although it was now more likely to be in some senior saga league screened on Dave+1 and would involve payment being made in Sanatogen and Ginseng.
He also confessed to an early interest in magic and how he had harboured dreams of being a magician. With a head fugged by cheap South African White Wine I suggested that there was nothing to stop him having a go at magic, it was never too late, I would support him as his assistant if he would let me read the news, thinking that it was something that we could keep to ourselves in the comfort of our own home, why I could even finish the news off with some Angela Rippon high kicks and see where the evening takes us. Emboldened by the prospect of magical high jinks husband retired to his chambers to practice waving his wand.
A hectic week passed without me giving so much as a thought towards our agreement. Husband was a changed man, attentive, chatty and understanding before he dropped his bombshell at the weekend. He had been practicing a few tricks and had put an advert in the local paper:

The Great Bonzonov and his glamorous assistant Kratchia
An hour of dazzling magic and entertainment
No room or audience too large or small
Not suitable for those allergic to pigeons

He had received a booking for next week at the local old peoples home and we needed to work on “our” act. He was still trying to work some news reading into the show, but as an alternative would I consider doing some freestyle Salsa off to one side to distract the audience from his sleight of hand at critical points during the performance.
With disbelief etched deep in my face I blew my top, What the hell had he done this for, he just didn’t get it, and what the hell would a Russian magician and his Siberian assistant be doing Salsa dancing. We would be a laughing stock. To which he replied meekly that he thought it would be something that we could both work towards together, and anyway the oldies were really looking forward to the performance.
I couldn’t believe it and had to resort to my old safety valve of picking a football team consisting of the main point of my anger, magicians.
In goal I would have David Blain hung in a glass box from the cross bar, in the hope that strikers would be tempted to kick balls at him rather than into the goal. Harry Corbett would operate a back four alongside Sooty, Sweep and Sue. Paul Daniels and Debbie Mcghee would trundle up and down the flanks, while Harry Houdini would tie up the midfield alongside Tommy Cooper directing operations in front of the back four. Jonathon Creek solving the problem of who to play up front alongside The Great Soprendo. The entire cast of Harry Potter would provide tricks on the bench under the management of Mohammed Ali, who I believe is a boxer but can also do a few card tricks.

And that’s bloody magic!