The Northern Echo: IT has not been a good time for my wife. George Clooney - the man of her dreams - got married.

Normally, she likes to talk about gorgeous George. She likes to read in the newspapers and magazines about what he’s been doing. But she didn’t want to know anything about his glamorous wedding to beautiful human rights lawyer Amal Alamuddin.

George described Amal as his “perfect woman” and talked about how he was looking forward to spending the rest of his life with her. My wife changed the subject when I read that bit out to her.

I think the fact that he chose to get married in Venice might have made matters worse. That’s where we celebrated our silver wedding anniversary a couple of years ago. Venice used to be her favourite place but not anymore.

I noticed she was more snappy than usual in the run up to the wedding - especially when I went to put her George Clooney plate in the dishwasher.

“Don’t put that in there!” she snapped. “It has to be hand-washed.”

Every other plate in the house can go in the dishwasher but not the George Clooney plate. Dishy George has to be handled with care.

“Why can't it go in the dishwasher?” I asked.

“Because,” she replied with the kind of logic Stephen Hawking would have been proud of.

There was a pause before she added: “It might rub him off.”

Having hand-washed George with all the delicacy The Queen’s butler uses when polishing the crown jewels, I tried to console my dear wife by gently pointing out that she was very unlikely to even meet George Clooney, let alone end up with him.

“Anyway, you’ve still got me,” I added.

It was her opportunity to say “You’re right - and I’m extremely fortunate,” but she just nodded.

It also didn’t help that George chose to get married the day before my wife’s birthday, which was pretty inconsiderate of him.

I did my best to cheer her up with some thoughtful presents, notably a day’s Christmas shopping in London with our daughter followed by a night at the theatre to see Matilda.

It seemed to go down well and there were signs that she was starting to get over the lovely Amal becoming Mrs Clooney.

That was until our Jack, 21, did the washing up. Jack washes up like most young men: with a deep sense of injustice that he has to do it, and as quickly as possible. You’ve guessed it, he man-handled the precious George Clooney plate and chipped it against the work-top.

I wasn’t actually there when the unthinkable happened but I heard all about it when I arrived home from work.

“Jack’s chipped George,” said my wife - the little black cloud having re-appeared over her head.

I’d do almost anything for my kids. I’d gladly swap places with any of them if they were in danger.

But, on this occasion, I simply thanked God that it was Jack’s fault and not mine.

I’ve got enough on my plate without being blamed for damaging my wife’s flawless image of the newly-married, off-the-shelf, unattainable George Clooney.

THE THINGS THEY WRITE

THANKS to my old friend Noel Greaves-Lord who got in touch to tell me about Ryan, who was starting high school.

He was asked to fill in a form, with his date of birth, address, and parents’ names. When it came to emergency number, he put “999”.