Love and the marriage hearse

An opaque reference to William Blake's poem 'London' in the title, in case some of you were wondering. (I hope you were - it's a great poem).

I know some of you are married. My folks are married. Maybe I'll get married. But I'm starting to wonder why.

It strikes me that love affairs, infatuations, dalliances, physical attractions - whatever other terms the urban dictionary has introduced to refer to 21st century relationship politics - are predictable only in their unpredictabilities.

It's a strange mixture of chemicals, circumstances and often alcoholic or hallucinogenic drugs that first attract you to someone. Similarly, what is it that repels you from certain people? A nasal twang, a thin top lip, particularly pungent body odour, a tendency to talk only about oneself most selfishly and a tad pompously - some of the top turn offs, wouldn't you agree, ma' sisters?

But when you meet the One (well, you'd give him one), it all makes sense. He smells of lavender and lemons. He is gorgeous. He is interesting, and INTERESTED in you. He is clever, but not boringly so. He is funny, but doesn't mind that you are funny too. He's ideally about 35, over all his little lad hangups. If we're talking wish lists, he is an Ulsterman working in the media. Perfect. You got the job.

And this is where the problem starts. Before the boundaries are imposed on your relationship by the two of you, it's great. The excitement of uncertainty. The phone rings, you feel sick with nerves and giddiness. He takes you out (a vague memory - I seem to remember enjoying that kind of thing, but lately I've been skipping the small talk). You enjoy his company, and don't drift off when he starts talking. At you.

Slowly, frighteningly, the humdrum sets in. Before you know it, you're doing his washing with yours and making those frightful lists in your head...'What shall we do for tea tonight?' - what sends me under with this question is that you NEVER STOP ASKING IT! At least on your own you can eat something random like a pot noodle panini and no questions are asked.

Where did the fun go? All of a sudden, the things you found quirky and exciting are getting on your nerves - it's become part of the ordinary. I don't see how any relationship can escape this dilemma, and it scares me.

Yes indeed, the beauty of love is its mutability. It answers to no-one, except perhaps illogic and nonsense. Everyone's addicted to the first six months for this reason. The constant ups and downs and the wonderfully tolerable feeling of being 'out of control' are a tonic. The effects of falling in love have even been clinically linked to that of cocaine.

Marriage would, you would think, be the pinnacle of this. It's a public declaration of your love and commitment to each other. And a silent promise to confine love and all its nonsense, surprises and spontaneity to a rectangular box, neatly labelled 'The Mundane'.

Most couples settle into a comfortable life. It's inevitable that routines, baby names and favourite holiday destinations are the result of spending a lot of time together.

However. What does your romantic love life no favours is predictability and routine. The ironic thing is, marriage, children and 'security' represent the very things that quash eroticism and excitement - they rein these things in, impose boundaries and make spontaneity a thing of the past.

I'm not sure we're programmed to be monogamous. But marriage is a useful institution to the economy, and supposedly acts as a moral safeguard - 'forsaking all others' and all that. Hmmm. I know at least half a dozen people who have broken their vows, and could probably think of a lot more.

We'd all do well to learn that 'security' in relationships is non-existent. The only stability about human feelings is that they change all the time.

Therefore: I propose to remain a Flibbertygibbet for a good while longer. I'm not ready to confine all that intoxication on the ride of an emotional rollercoaster to a trip to Sainsbury's in a clapped out Fiesta. These be the wild times ;-)