Tuesday I received a text from the good woman while I was in work today. It read: Hi Angela, how has your morning been? It's 11.35am and I haven't spent a cent yet - Enda.
I know it is taking the whole concept of pet names a little too far, but this is what happens when one person in the marriage decides the other needs to grip the financial reins.
The recent Budget has forced us to review our cash situation and I have been told I must become the household accountant, as the good woman feels women are natural born spendthrifts.
My performance so far has been thorough, so thorough that she has christened me Angela, in honour of the German chancellor. And I kind of like it. There is something empowering about being referred to as an autocrat by text, but I insist it stops around the house. 'Daddy Angela' would simply confuse the children. Thursday
Another text came today. It read: Hi Angela, I've just saved us €120 a year by switching waste disposal company, and we get a compost bin and glass recycling bin included – Enda. Good woman. With the recent hike in motor tax and yo-yoing petrol prices, I also looked into how we could save money while keeping two cars (necessary) on the road.
I toyed briefly with the idea of a scooter and sidecar, in which I could place the young lad and younger lad – picture Biggles (inset) and his boys.
When I looked at how much it would be to insure the mini-motorbike, it turned out it would cost almost the same as the car, though substantially less on tax and fuel. Safety issues also come into play; scooters and the dark dreary roads of Ireland are hardly ideal bedfellows. Plus, what we'd save, we'd end up spending on hair gel. Motorbike hair is not a good look. Saturday
The mother rang last night to tell me she had picked me up a few books at a sale, one of them on Páidí O Sé, the great GAA legend. This morning I heard the sad news that Páidí had passed away.
Later tonight, I listened with interest as his life was recounted on RTE Radio 1. The presenter told of his love for Dolly Parton and how she once came and had breakfast in his pub with him and his mother. With the Christmas break on the horizon I look forward to reading about the life and times of the roguish eight-times All Ireland winner – rest in peace.