Dr Love mends broken hearts
24th October, 2007

It's taken almost 30 years but Mum's finally had enough and sent Dad on his way. Before the family law solicitors start salivating, I should point out that she has only send him as far as the sleep unit at one of the city's better-known hospitals. After more than a quarter of a century of marriage, she's finally had enough of sleeping beside a human chainsaw. I visited him the other day and he gave me an update. "They're going to give me a special mask to wear at night," he said. "They reckon that I stop breathing when I go to sleep. Apparently it could kill me." It occurred to me that since Dad has been snoring as long as I can recall, if it was going to kill him it probably would have done so by now, though I decided against voicing this view. I, too, have been accused of emitting the odd snort but respond well to a friendly elbow jab to the kidneys, which sends me skating across the bed whimpering with pain. Women, of course, never snore and if you are tired of sharing your bed with your partner and you yearn to be alone, mention to her that she snores. This will end the relationship as effectively as agreeing with her that those jeans do make her bum look big, or remarking on her best friend's impressively sculpted chest - and thus will guarantee you months of celibacy. Relationships can be delicate affairs, which was what I was thinking as I stood outside a restaurant one evening last week commiserating with a colleague. His female friend was inside with the rest of our group and he did not look happy. "We're having a domestic," he moaned. Being one of the least equipped people I know to offer relationship advice, I was preparing to offer him some gratuitous and totally inappropriate suggestions when his girlfriend swept past us and made off up the street.    "There she goes!" I hissed. "She's leaving you."    "Oh God," he moaned. "I knew this would happen. What will I do?"    "You'll have to go after her," I said. "That's what she wants. It's her way of saying 'pay me more attention'."    "Are you sure?" he asked. I wasn't at all sure and those few people who have been so desperate or deranged as to have followed my advice in affairs of the heart have usually ended up leading lonely, pathetic existences.    "Of course I am," I said. "Get going or you won't be able to catch her."    "You're right," he said and sprinted off down the footpath, weaving through the pedestrian throng and shouting the woman's name at full voice. Satisfied that I had rescued the relationship, I wandered back inside to the dinner party and was wondering quietly to myself if the Kylie Minogue lookalike singing on stage was wearing a bra when I saw my mate re-enter the room, looking rather flushed.    "Did you catch her?" I asked.    "Yes, I caught her," he said, his eyes narrowing.    "Well?" I demanded. "How did it go?"    "Not very well," he said. "It was the wrong girl. She thought I was trying to attack her. She started screaming. It all got very ugly. I was lucky to escape before the police arrived."    "Are you sure?"    "Of course I'm bloody sure!" he shrilled. "She called me a perverted creep and tried to kick me. You said it was my girlfriend. You sent me chasing after the wrong woman, you moron!" he yelled, his face turning a pale shade of purple.    "You're getting emotional," I said. "It was an honest mistake." While this drama was playing out, his real girlfriend was sitting at the table wondering where he'd gone and becoming more agitated by the moment at his apparent neglect of her. He told her it wasn't his fault and that I'd told him to chase after a strange woman down the street. Not surprisingly, she failed to see the funny side. I hope Dad's mask works. If not, I might have to offer him some of my valued relationship advice.

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