My wife can’t ‘beat it’ when it comes to mourning Michael Jackson

Jul 5 2009 by Mike Lockley, Sunday Mercury

wMICHAEL Jackson died a week last Thursday.

Today is the first day my wife hasn’t blubbed about it.

It was the same with Princess Diana and Elvis.

I underwent a tricky hernia operation in 1993.

And my wife was so concerned, she couldn’t visit me in hospital – because it clashed with a girly night out.

Shame that.

I’d asked if it was possible for my nearest and dearest to shave me prior to the op, rather than a strapping  male nurse called Errol.

The hospital relayed the request to my wife, but informed me she’d declined, on the grounds ‘she couldn’t trust herself’.

That hurt – a lot more than Errol.

My ordeal, however, was very small beer when judged against the untimely demise of Michael Jackson.

A tragedy that has so consumed Julie, it’s a wonder black calico blinds haven’t been hung from our windows.

“I can’t believe,” she sniffed, “he won’t be moon-walking up our driveway.”

I pointed out he never did.

“I lived in hope,” she muttered, her bottom lip trembling.

Radio Rural has already interviewed my wife as the founder of the Shropshire Young Farmers’ Michael Jackson Fan Club.

“He was one of only a handful of true geniuses,” she wept on air. “Now he’s gone, there are only Leslie Grantham and Beyonce left.”

I groaned and turned down the car radio.

Yesterday, after a sufficient period of state mourning, I plucked up the courage to ask if we could switch from the satellite music channel’s wall-to-wall Michael Jackson videos.

“Heartless swine,” screamed Julie and stormed upstairs.

“We’re all sad and it’s a great tragedy,” I told my wife, who was prostrate, face-down on the bed, “but it’s not like he was family.”

“Michael Jackson fans are one big family,” she pouted.

My patience snapped. “Well, let’s hope we don’t get custody of that bloody chimp,” I ranted.

“He’s not really dead,” whispered Colin over a frothing pint. “I’ve seen him. He’s staying at Mrs Findlay’s B&B.”  

I pointed out he can’t be. The person staying at the guest house is black.