Newspaper article The Journal (Newcastle, England)

Carrie Carlisle; Columnist

Newspaper article The Journal (Newcastle, England)

Carrie Carlisle; Columnist

Article excerpt

THINGS I assumed I'd rather do than meet up with my husband's ex-wife: | Spend a week trapped in a broken down lift with Mike Ashley. | Go on a night out with the cast of Geordie shore.

| Be forced to then and watch this episode of Geordie Shore.

I could go on, but I'm sure you get the picture.

I'd successfully spent the first 18 months of my relationship with my husband, keeping contact with his ex to a bare minimum. It revolved solely around dropping kids off and picking them up, which gives enough time for the sort of pleasantries you'd exchange with a stranger at a bus stop.

I've heard marvellous stories of ex wives and new wives getting on famously. Taking selfies together. Writing each other public Facebook statuses of affection. These people are a very specific type of human, though: American.

I don't know any British folk who have BFF-type relationships with an ex/new wife. It's a bit weird and emotional, and far too grown up for the likes of me.

Until this week. This has been a big week. Changes left right and centre.

Dramatic change invariably involves large amounts of communication. Now I love hiding behind texts as much as the next man. So much easier than picking up the phone and using my mouth like they did in the olden days.

I knew I had to call my husband's ex-wife, though I tried an admirable amount to avoid it.

Turns out, it's remarkably tricky to run away from a mobile phone. If you hide under a table, you can still hear it ringing. Stick it in your cavernous handbag if you like, but you'll be able to hear it vibrating anyway.

So, with a massive sigh, I called her. For an hour. And somehow managed to end the call by arranging to meet for coffee the next day.

We were to meet underneath the monument in town. It felt like a blind date.

What should I wear? The answer was of course, anything. When you are five and a half months pregnant, you look like a space hopper on legs no matter what your sartorial choices. …

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