One fine day, he’s filling in a Marriage Certificate, and he asks the lad before him about previous marriages. The lad says his wife ran away, so the Registrar asks about children. The lad says no, they ran away too and got caught in the same shotgun blast.
Now this Registrar is used to time wasters so he carries on regardless: Any other marriages? The lad says she disappeared too. Any children? “No, “the lad replies.” They were in the same car when I pushed it over the cliff!”
Our official man’s had enough now: “I don’t think you’re ready for another marriage.” Marriage?” says the lad. “I’m here to register another death!”
Next day, our hero addresses a very mournful, black-clouted group in his office, and loses the plot again. “Is there any reason why this woman you speak of should not be married?” “Yes!” the group shouts back. “Because she’s ninety-five, she’s dead and we want a certificate!”
It’s like that Northern saying: “You know what thought did, followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding.”
Next door to the Registrar’s office is a function room. One night he doublebooks the room to a Martial Arts Club and a Marital Arts chic-chat run by Fanny Summers. And of course a brawl breaks out. God forgive him, it’s an easy mistake to make; both numpty groups get hot over odd weapons and funny fumbles. But imagine the Kung Foo Fight between them!
What a match.
© Mike Atkinson
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