Week 3

Soliciting Sunday

I have an appointment tomorrow with a solicitor. Better list the questions I need to ask.

1. Is there a way out?

2. Is divorce an option or do you have to have a legal separation first?

3. Is everything split 50/50 regardless, or is it negotiated?

4. How much does it cost?

5. How long does it take?

And…what happens with the house? Does it have to be sold? I can’t bear the thought of that. I’ve lived here 25 years. Ok the situation isn’t ideal, but it’s home, it’s my sanctuary. Besides, the Goldfish are happy in their nice pond in the back garden.

A friend calls and tells me that you have to be 5 years living apart and then it takes another 5 for the divorce to be final. That’s provided the judge grants the divorce in the first place.  If that’s the case, I’ll probably be a pensioner by the time it’s all sorted. Classic mistake – asking a friend. Who isn’t a lawyer.

Lawful  Monday

“I don’t know where to start”, I say – and then start by bursting into tears. “Let’s start with the basics”, the lawyer says. “Names, address, when you got married, and so on.” Half an hour later I leave, still snivelling. But I have answers. Divorce is available. It will probably take six months to a year to process. He is obliged to engage a different solicitor to advise him.  The services of a barrister will be required to draw up 2 pension amendment orders. The irony of this. We both have pensions which were small to begin with but with the craziness of the banking meltdown and the macho mismanagement of pension funds in particular, we would need to combine the 2 to buy a weekly newspaper. Maybe I could take up pole dancing at 65 and supplement my pension that way. If my back holds up.

The whole proceedings will cost approx. 2,000 Euros.   The draft petition to the Court will be drawn up by the solicitor. In the meanwhile, I must prepare an Affidavit of Means. So must he. So now 2 solicitors and the Family Law Court will be told of every cent I earn and spend- a detailed report of my medical expenses, food, petrol, and going out, everything. Earnings, bank account details – the lot. Backed up by payslips, bank statements, and utility bills….Just as well I don’t patronize porn sites or bookies.

Back home, himself queries why a second lawyer and barrister are necessary. It’s quite straightforward after all; no mortgage, no children. Assets split 50/50. I don’t see the need for all this legal palaver either, but it’s what the solicitor said had to be done. I state my wish to have sole custody of the Goldfish. He can have visitation rights. Hell he can take them to MacDonalds.   Maybe they can be fitted them with tiny oxygen masks and strapped to a skateboard.

Fried Rice Friday

The full coven is assembled for dinner in our favourite Chinese restaurant; Sisters,Nieces and me.  We chat, eat and send dishes round the table on the Lazy Susan. After dinner, the teaholics x 3 down 6 pots of tea. I stick to water; I’m not having wine as I’m driving.  Despite my recent bombshell, we are having fun. Sister 1, the non-smoker, teetotaller, non-swearer and regular church goer, is telling a story; apparently an unnamed lady was having fun on her own with a battery powered appliance, when the thing overheated and she got burnt where sunburn never reaches. So she screeched (as you would) ran to the kitchen, opened the fridge, flung the stuff off the shelf and sat on it. The tale is made even funnier by the euphemisms ladylike Sister 1 uses; the unfortunate pleasure seeker had suffered a burn “south of the border”. She had stuck her “private business” in the fridge. The rest of us are weeping with laughter. Niece 1 has her head on the table, her shoulders shaking. Sister 3 has tears streaming down her face. My sides are hurting.  Emboldened, I relate the unfortunate incident on Skype. They’re all in complete hysterics now. The coven leaves the restaurant having had a lovely dinner and much laughter.  I leave with a new nickname; “Skype and Flash”. That’s families for you.