Keith Barret - Making Divorce Work - In 9 Easy Steps

C: Christmas.You can do what you want to do. So long as it doesn’t include the children.

E: Easter.See Christmas.

Good? Of course it is. Now then, take off my glasses, read that last bit again and I’m sure you’ll think that it’s a load of mumbo-jumbo nonsense, so hang on to those imaginary glasses, tie a bit of imaginary string to them and drape them round your imaginary neck like a theatre director or a librarian; you’ll be needing them again soon.

I think so, yes. Put it this way; yes it is.It’s for anyone and everyone recently out of a relationship, or anyone and everyone who feels their union may be coming to an end. This book is aimed at anyone and everyone, male or female, hetero or homo, straight or gay

It’s probably most useful to straight men.

That’s not important though, what is important is:

1. That you read on regardless of your sexual orientation.

2. Remember that you are not alone.

(What I mean by that is, you are alone, you’re very alone; but you’re not the only one going through it.)

Well my friend, you may as well ask,“How long is a piece of string?”

Exactly!

In this case it’s nine steps long. How long is a step? In this case it’s about twenty-five pages,so in this case a piece of string is approximately 224 pages long, including the foreword.

I’ve broken the whole process of making a divorce work down into nine easy steps, or one long piece of string. I can promise you that by the end of the final chapter you will feel much less like you are staring into an endless black abysscontemplating the futility of your own existence. Feelings of humiliation and pointlessness will have been replaced with gaiety and joy. Indeed the only sound of laughter you hear will now be yours, not that of everyone who knows you. If I’ve done my job, far from avoiding break-up and separation, you’ll probably enjoy it! You might even be tempted to enter into a string of doomed relationships just so you can relish the final wrench apart! This might seem light years away from the uncontrollable sobbing and shaking you’re experiencing at the moment, but trust me: anything is possible when you’ve taken the medicine[1] prescribed by Dr Keith![2]

[1]Always read the label. (Only joking! It’s a bit of fun…)

[2]Fourth Estate Legal Notice: At the time of going to press Keith Barret is not a doctor or optician. Fourth Estate in no way endorses any medical or optometric advice dispensed within the pages of this book. All liability rests solely with the author. Consult a qualified medical practitioner before following any of the advice given in this publication.

“Hello…”

LIONEL RITCHIE – HELLO

“Hello again”

NEIL DIAMOND – HELLO AGAIN

“Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello…”

THE OASIS – SHAKER MAKER

Good morning, Good morning! What a treat it is to be given the chance to write a book, what’s more, a book that people will read, read in their hundreds, in their thousands! Of their own free will, of course, not as part of some huge organized reading. I’m not suggesting that for a moment; I don’t see how it could happen, in all honesty, without a degree of force on the part of the organizers, and that’s not what I want. Force shouldn’t come into it. Yes, the BBC encouraged the nation to pick up books with its excellent serial, The Big Reader, but that’s all they did, encourage. I don’t want a literary apartheid.When you see what’s happening in South Africa, it turns your stomach.

I want people to read this book of their own free will,at home, on the bus or maybe in a meadow. Not sitting at rows and rows of desks, undernourished and gaunt with huge jailers looming over them. It would be like a scene from 1984 with John Hurt, a smashing video yes, but hardly the right sort of conditions for enjoying a good read. And that’s what this book should be, above all else, a good read, as simple as that.

Yes, it deals with some very thorny issues, which other authors (I know, unbelievable!) might shy away from, they might think,“Wait a minute, Keith! People might not be able to stomach this. Maybe you should just tell them half the truth…” Well, I’m sorry, but Rome wasn’t built like that, neither was Cardiff.They don’t have half buildings, tiny stunted single-storey efforts that only paint half the picture; although yes there are bungalows,usually retirement properties for the elderly, the infirm or the disabled. In the case of the disabled of course it goes a step further: not only is everything on one floor, all the light switches are lower too, within arm’s reach or in some cases they don’t have switches, just lots of cords. Cords hanging everywhere. It can look like a thousand party poppers have been set off as part of a huge celebrationand of course the disabled themselves won’t be slow in picking up on the irony of that. We’re not here to talk about the disabled, to single them out for special treatment, that’s not what they want, they want to be one of the crowd, getting by like everyone else. Unless there are steps in which case nowadays they do expect a ramp. And why not?

It’s a bit of fun.

But enough of the fun; let’s get back to you and your problemsand let me say from the outset how thrilled I am to be given the opportunity to enter the world of literature! In all honesty it’s the last thing I thought I would do; but why not? Let’s have a go …

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…

Oops! Already taken! Never mind, I’ll just think of something new, that’s all right; I’m not a writer and would never claim to be. I am, though, a vicious reader. I’ve just re-read that and realized that I’ve used the word vicious instead of the slightly longer one voracious! What a fool. Imagine that, a vicious reader! Ridiculous …

Actually, there was a boy at my school, Martin Thorpe, who once pierced the skin on the chest of Mr Deere the English teacher. It happened on a particularly hot day one summer term. Old “no eye” had insisted on keeping the windows shut as he suffered from an abnormally low body temperature.As did Mr Pye, the physics teacher; he eventually retired to Chile. I know! Anyway “no eye” went up to Martin to check on his progress as we read King Lear by William Shakespeare. He tapped Martin on his shoulder, whereupon the boy lashed out like a frightened animal, shrieking loudly as he did. Mr Deere recoiled in horror and fell to the ground with Martin’s pen sticking out of his chest. I went and helped Mr Deere to his feet and gave Martin back his pen but the damage was done. Martin was suspended for two weeks and Mr Deere retired with nerves.

I’ve always had a keen interest in readingand as a child was a fully paid up member of the Ladybird Club and would tingle with excitementat the thought of another of their little books plopping through the letter box. I would race out of my room and along the hall, headlong towards the pile of fresh post nestled at the foot of the front door, only to be knocked aside by my fatheras he headed for the same destination. Even though this was long before the days of anthrax in the post, Dad always had a keen sense of protecting his family and was merely checking that the coast was clear before allowing his pride and joy to get too close. He was also keen to check whether that month’s Amateur Riflemanhad come. We would both scurry off with our quarry; Dad to pore over pictures of telescopic lenses and me in my pyjamas to read about Little Red Hen and Chicken Lickin’. Ironically two of the creatures most at risk from Dad’s recreational activities.