MY PAL met his wife at a city centre singles club. To say he was surprised is an understatement, since he thought she was at home looking after their kids. They had fallen out over his choice of matching bag and belt for her birthday, and he couldn't believe she was so upset. Hadn't she for weeks been complaining about that vacuum cleaner?

MY PAL met his wife at a city centre singles club. To say he was surprised is an understatement, since he thought she was at home looking after their kids. They had fallen out over his choice of matching bag and belt for her birthday, and he couldn't believe she was so upset. Hadn't she for weeks been complaining about that vacuum cleaner?

My pal never tires of telling anyone stupid enough to listen that it was me who introduced him to The Wicked Witch of the East. It's not so much a statement of fact as an accusation. But how could I have known the lassie would be so temperamental, as in 50% temper and 50% mental.

I had dragged him along to a bottle party in darkest Cambuslang one night with the incentive that he might at last meet the girl of his dreams. He said fine, but he was far from convinced he wanted to be seen in public with such a woman.

When we got there, The Wicked Witch was busting out of a T-shirt which bore the promising legend: "Make Love Not War".

So my pacifist pal tried his arm, and you should have seen the fight The Wicked Witch put up. My pal's usual chat-up lines carry all the sincerity of an election manifesto, so he was getting nowhere.

"Do you always give guys such a hard time?" he growled. "I mean, have you never slept with anyone?" "That's my business!" she snapped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise," my pal responded. "How much is it?"

IT has cost my pal plenty since he won her round, and The Wicked Witch glided down the aisle on her broom to say: "You will".

But he continues to display that cavalier attitude towards his other half.

They were doing renovations in their first house, when one of the workmen paused to look at a flattering photo of The Wicked Witch, taken on their honeymoon.

She was wearing all the war paint, the light on Millport had been at just the right angle, the picture was ever so slightly out of focus, and if you squinted she didn't look half bad.

The workman gave a lewd whistle, and asked: "Who's that?" "That's my missus."

"Lucky you, my missus doesn't look like that." "Is that so," said my pal, "well, neither does mine." Nancy and me walked into their kitchen one day.

"Where is she?" Nancy asked. "I think she muttered something about going for a shower," said my pal. "Just a second, I'll check." He went to the sink and turned on the hot water full blast. A blood-curdling shriek came from above. He calmly turned off the tap and said: "As I thought, she's in the shower." And the day she told him she fancied experimenting in the bedroom, he bought her a chemistry set and then joined me in the pub.

TIME spent with my pal's family (they put the fun into dysfunctional) has scientifically proven to be an effective form of birth control.

During one family row, their teenage son told them: "I'm leaving. I want some excitement, adventure, to make money and chase after women. I'll never be allowed to do that here."

As he headed for the door my pal followed him.

"Don't try and stop me, dad," said the boy.

"Who's trying to stop you? Give me a minute and I'll go with you."

My pal and The Wicked Witch had a rare moment of agreement last week, when a Berwickshire mum admitted she allows her 14-year-old daughter to have sex with her 22-year-old boyfriend in the family home.

My pal's view is not for a family newspaper. But he says the boy would be taking his meals through a straw.

Anyway, he and The Wicked Witch have fallen out again - because he didn't open the car door for her.

Hardly a capital crime, you have to say. And my pal says it wasn't his fault. He admits he just lost it and swam to the surface.