Secret spending

It seems a surprising number of adults hide their purchases on things like beauty products, gambling and clothing from their partners as part of a pattern of secret spending.

A survey of 4000 adults showed that men on average spent £2545 without their partner's knowledge in the past year. Women spent an average of £1769.

The young are more secretive with their spending than older generations, with an average of £4303 in the past year. Those over 55 spent an average of just £384.

Jenny and I have never bought anything secretly, except presents to each other. We wouldn't dream of such sneaky behaviour. And we aren't embarrassed by anything we buy. I might think Jenny has been a bit extravagant, she might think the same about me, but secret spending never crosses our minds.

I think it says something negative about the nature of your relationship if you feel you can't be upfront about what you're buying. Especially if your secret purchases are so hefty that you're getting into alarming levels of debt that the other person doesn't know about.

How can you justify the secrecy?

PS: The figures above are mysterious. How are they compiled? Do people really remember every secret purchase they've made over the last year? And the exact price they paid? Or are the figures based on estimates?

A bit on the side

I've always been baffled by how many men have mistresses, and see it as totally normal behaviour. How do they justify it? Why do they feel the need for something so dubious and clandestine?

I've never been tempted to have a mistress. That might be because Jenny and I have always had a strong and enduring relationship, and I never felt there was something lacking, something I needed to look for elsewhere. Or it's a simple aversion to the very idea of "something on the side".

Having a mistress seems like a sign of failure, a sign that you haven't tried hard enough to make your main relationship work. I also couldn't go through with all the deceit and subterfuge it calls for. Plus I'd suspect I was motivated by some quite unreal idea of the person I was getting involved with - that they're stunningly beautiful or clever or sexy - and a few months later I'd be disillusioned and it'd all end in tears.

But everywhere you look men are revealing their secret mistresses and acting as though they're doing nothing wrong, they're just yielding to their masculine instincts and needs. Or they're just exercising their teeming virility. Some women even go along with a man's trail of mistresses on the basis that "it's just the way they are."

In virtually very novel I read there are men with mistresses, either carefully concealing them, or going off them, or being suddenly found out and begging forgiveness. In the world of fiction mistresses are normalised.

It's interesting that the marriage vows include all sorts of pledges to look after your spouse but say nothing about adultery or sticking to one partner and not being tempted by anyone else.

As the saying goes "I can resist anything except temptation".

PS: I see there are several versions of the marriage vows, some forbidding adultery, some not.

Secrecy and coyness

I'm baffled by this constant reluctance to reveal how someone died. Why the obsessive secrecy and coyness in an age of increasing frankness?

A local MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly) has died suddenly at the age of 39, but the family aren't explaining how he died. So naturally there's all sorts of speculation, probably most of it nonsense, about the possible cause. Suicide is the front runner, but no doubt there's a few takers for a drugs overdose, a sex game that went wrong, a fall down the stairs, an undiagnosed heart condition, a scandal about to break, and anything else our fevered imaginations can come up with.

Why not just tell us the cause of death? What's the big deal? Possibly the cause is something the family is embarrassed or ashamed about, so they prefer to stay silent.

But in these lay-it-all-on-the-table days, when people will reveal almost anything about themselves, no matter how lurid or shocking or intimate, why this odd exception?

I guess people are often afraid that if the cause of death is something that could have been prevented, something that might implicate other people, then they'd rather keep quiet to avoid all the judgmental tut-tutting from self-righteous busybodies.

But surely nowadays people are much more likely to be sympathetic and consoling than judgmental? Surely we're all aware for example that something like suicide has all sorts of contributory factors and that blaming their family or friends for not doing enough to prevent it is simply stupid and unhelpful.

Certainly I have no objection to my own cause of death being revealed, however bizarre or unusual it might be.

So why not just tell us how this chap died? Just take a deep breath and stop all the wild speculation.

PS: Wow, today is my 15th blogiversary!!

The honest truth

A woman from North Carolina has caused huge controversy with her new book on marriage, in which she lists all her husband's faults and says marriage requires you to blot out certain aspects of your spouse to stay happy.

Heather Havrilesky says that "after 15 years of marriage, you start to see your mate clearly, free of your own projections and misperceptions." Her husband Bill "is exactly the same as a heap of laundry: smelly, inert, almost sentient but not quite" until he has had his coffee each morning.

If Jenny was that frank about my shortcomings, I'd die of embarrassment. And I wouldn't dream of broadcasting all her shortcomings. But she claims Bill has read her book three times, and loves it. He approves of her brutal honesty, has a great sense of humour about himself, and "doesn't lose sleep over what other people think". I must say I find it hard to believe he can be that un-bothered.

Not many people would be that candid publicly about their spouse's failings. There's a sort of unwritten rule that you stress all the benefits of your marriage while skipping over the less desirable aspects. Moaning about your spouse is reserved strictly for the ears of close friends only.

Is that good or bad? If everyone hides the downside of their marriage, these must be a lot of people hearing all these glossy accounts and thinking their own marriage must be a dismal failure. Wouldn't it be better if we were all more honest and admitted that marriage isn't necessarily the joyous idyll we imagined on our wedding day? That making a marriage last over the long term is hard work?

Anyway, I won't be putting pen to paper any time soon. My marital secrets will stay exactly that - secret.

Pic: Heather Havrilesky

On the game

Talking of secrets, I've never been with a prostitute. Never ever. But a surprising number of men have been. Some research says one in ten. Clearly they're not put off by all the negative associations of what they're doing.

I once lived in a red-light district near Paddington Station in London. Every so often one of the women would ask me if I "wanted a good time" or "wanted to do some business." I always politely turned them down.

I've long been mystified by men's taste for prostitutes (I refuse to use the sanitised term sex worker). For many reasons I never shared their keenness. And not just because of a shortage of a cash.

I couldn't live with all the secrecy and lying. Not just to your girlfriend or wife but to other family members, friends, workmates, strangers - just about everyone. If it's something so shameful or disgusting you daren't tell anyone, why are you doing it at all?

I have no desire for sex with a complete stranger, and certainly not if it's been turned into a commercial transaction. And certainly not if the woman is doing it unwillingly and out of desperation. And certainly not if she's a victim of sexual trafficking, as many prostitutes now are.

I wouldn't want to go along with all the obvious falsity. The woman pretending she's delighted to see you, that you're a mighty handsome fella, that you're sexual dynamite, that it's dreadful your wife has lost interest etc. Some men must actually believe all this bullshit.

And yes, the shame. How do some men live with themselves, seeing women not as human beings worthy of respect and consideration but handy sexual receptacles when they're feeling randy?

As the old question goes, would you treat your own daughter like that?

Keeping mum

Ramana and Chuck have both posted about secrets today, so I thought I'd join in. People have very different attitudes to secrets. Some think it's healthy to get everything out in the open and not bottle things up, others think it's more sensible to reveal the bare minimum and keep the rest to yourself.

Things have changed a lot since I was young. In those days there was no social media to broadcast your every personal quirk to. You might confide something to a family member or one or two friends and that was that. Now you can tell Facebook you're suffering from PTSD and hundreds of people know your secret instantly.

But is that a good or bad thing? The "let it all out" school of thought says that revealing everything, however perverse or trivial or hateful or idiotic, might upset a few people but there's nothing festering away inside to cause inhibitions and awkwardness.

Which is fine in theory, but in practice there are many very good reasons for keeping things secret.

Someone might have told you something in confidence. If you reveal it, others will stop confiding in you. Something might be so controversial or bizarre that you can't face all the possible negative reactions, so you prefer to keep it quiet. If you're a whistle-blower exposing some sort of malpractice, you might find yourself ostracised or even sacked.

Although personally I'd like to be entirely frank about every aspect of my life, it's for reasons like those that in reality I keep many things secret. It would simply be too damaging to lay everything on the line.

My family have always been intensely secretive, telling me what's strictly necessary and keeping everything else under wraps. I know very little about my mother and father because they told me next to nothing. My sister and brother-in-law and niece are equally reticent.

Well, total transparency sounds good but can easily turn sour.

Don't tell mum

I guess it's normal for kids to realise at some point that it's a mistake to tell their parents every detail of their lives. The innocent habit of blurting everything out regardless gives way to a more reserved approach in which you keep certain things to yourself.

You realise that some of the things you do and say are likely to get a hostile or at least chilly response from your uncomprehending parents, and you learn to keep them to yourself or save them for more understanding friends.

I have a long list of things that I've never mentioned to my mother or father (mainly my mother as my father died many years ago) - in some cases things from decades ago that my mother knows nothing about. For example:

• The times I tried cannabis and LSD
• The odd instance of petty theft
• My not-very-orthodox sex life
• Most of my political views (my mother is very right-wing, as was my father)
• My presence at gay pride and pro-choice rallies
• My taste in books, music and films
• The crummy bedsits I used to live in
• One or two girlfriends she wouldn't have approved of

I also haven't told her about the trace of prostate cancer. Well, I know she would only worry about it, even though it's pretty insignificant at this point.

The fact that I keep so much to myself is I suppose one reason why we've never been especially close. Closeness is dependent on a fairly open and honest relationship in which you can talk freely to each other. If I have to think twice about everything I'm about to say, that creates a huge barrier between us.

I imagine other people censor themselves with their parents in much the same way, though maybe to a lesser extent that doesn't preclude closeness. I envy those who can talk to their parents without such crushing inhibition.

A bit on the side

I have mixed feelings about affairs. Are they always to be condemned, whatever the circum-stances? Or are they the result of natural human impulses, something that's understandable and excusable?

They're often described as "cheating", but is it more a matter of irresistible longings or personal fulfillment than cheating? Is it cheating to want more than you already have? Is it cheating to be drawn to someone and to act on it?

The real question of course is how the partner who is "cheated on" is likely to react if the truth comes out. They might simply turn a blind eye and let it go on - or fizzle out. Or they might be totally devastated and give their partner the boot. Or anything in between. If you start an affair knowing full well that your partner is likely to be shattered if they find out, then you're an idiot.

Neither Jenny or I have had affairs, but I was once sorely tempted. There was one woman (let's call her Yvonne) who had an absolutely electrifying effect on me. She aroused me so strongly that I seriously thought of trying to take it further. But I knew which side my bread was buttered, I knew the consequences could be catastrophic, and I had enough will-power to resist. But I'm still amazed at the quite inexplicable effect she had on me.

Mind you, if thought of the consequences hadn't stopped me, then I would have shrunk from the degree of secrecy and lying it would involve. I dislike secrecy, I prefer things to be out in the open,  and having to be scrupulously secretive for months on end would have really screwed me up. I would probably have blurted out the truth in a matter of days.

I won't be getting a reputation as a philanderer any time soon.

Spilling it out

I still contend that there's no such thing as over-sharing. Why not just spill it all out? What is there about our lives that needs to be kept from other people? Maybe if you're a serial bank robber, you might want to hide it, but otherwise, the more we tell others, the more they'll understand us, which surely is all to the good?

I'm happy to share virtually anything, however personal or weird or illegal or seedy. There's nothing I'm ashamed of, nothing I regret, nothing that makes me cringe. All I keep to myself are things that might jeopardise my job, or embarrass Jenny, or be totally misunderstood, or get a police officer ringing my doorbell. Other than that, why bottle it all up?

Of course what is "over-sharing" to one person is just routine chat to another. While one person might be fascinated by the details of my sex life or medical problems, someone else might be utterly repulsed and head for the door. There's no way of predicting people's sharing threshold, so if I don't know them, I'll feel my way quite cautiously until I get some helpful signals.

Obviously I don't just blurt out anything and everything to every passing stranger. If someone looks like the shy and reserved type, I'll stick to the usual small talk and harmless banter. If they look as if they want something deeper and more honest, I'll open up a bit and see how it goes. I'm not going to foist of load of possibly shocking revelations on someone unprepared for them.

Contrary-wise, I'm very happy for other people to be as open as they like about their inner lives. It's interesting and revealing and brings us closer. We may be facing the same personal problems. They may be dying to get something off their chest. They may be baffled by something I can make sense of. Where's the benefit in forever hiding yourself behind a mask of polite, platitudinous nonsense?

I'm not a sphinx. I'll give it to you straight.

Baring all

Some couples claim there's nothing they wouldn't want their partners to see, that they just let it all hang out and they don't care what their partner thinks. Such openness is part of a genuine, honest relationship and why on earth would they want to hide things? What's to be shy about?

I've met couples who seem to do exactly that and not feel at all awkward about it. They share the bathroom, show each other their wobbly bits, hoover up cake and chocolates, plough through chicklit, and don't feel any furtive need to conceal anything.

I incline that way too. I might feel a bit embarrassed at times about having an audience, but seldom do I actually hide anything - unless I'm asked to. There are very few things I'd rather keep to myself.

I was checking through a list of activities that people commonly don't want their partner to witness, and personally I wouldn't be too bothered by any of them. For example:

• Getting dressed or undressed
• Trying on clothes
• Weighing yourself
• Eating something unhealthy or bingeing
• Enjoying a trashy novel/music/film etc
• Boozing
• Smoking
• Pleasuring yourself
• Personal grooming
• Crying/being seriously upset
• Buying something expensive
• Using pornography

Not that I've ever smoked or used porn, so those two can be ruled out. But as for the others, what's the big deal? Why would I want to keep them out of sight?

It's sad that someone feels so embarrassed or ashamed by their body or their behaviour, or so scared of a judgmental and censorious partner, that they simply can't stand to be seen. But such reticence is easily learnt, and hard to shake off once it's engrained.

Hidden depths

How much can we ever understand someone else? Even if we've known a person for decades, can we ever compre-hend more than a fraction of their complex personality? How much can we ever glimpse behind all the public masks and role-playing and social diplomacy?

By the time we're adults we're amazingly skilled at faking it - in displaying not our real selves but the selves we want other people to see. The competent mum or dad, the chatty socialite, the reassuring friend, the diligent employee. Some pretty astute detective skills are needed to cut through all the pretence and dig out the real person hiding underneath.

We don't want other people to see the secret reservoirs of malice, jealousy, violence, greed, sloth, contempt and all the other 101 varieties of untamed nastiness. And worse than that, the fleeting desire for sheer unmitigated madness - the wish to strangle our argumentative spouse, drown our impossible children, burn down the stingy bank, bomb that hideous new office block.

If we know someone really well, we'll have seen a few of these squalid impulses in unguarded moments. But it's unlikely we've seen them all, or seen them in their full naked ferocity. And the really shocking traits may be concealed so rigorously that we never discover them at all.

How many times have we read of a woman whose husband of twenty years suddenly turns out to be a serial killer, a multi-million pound fraudster, a polygamist, or a drug trafficker? They swear they had no idea what was going on, that he was an affectionate, charming husband who aroused no suspicions whatever.

Extreme emotions and beliefs are especially hard to fathom. Strange obsessions and passions and hatreds that make no sense. What fuels such vicious hostility towards a former lover? What fires such devotion to an obscure religious sect? There's something going on there we just aren't privy to.

At the end of the day there's only so much you can learn about another person. Only they can know the whole story. Only they can know exactly how they think and feel and react. Only they can know their every sordid nook and cranny. They'll always leave us guessing more often than not.

PS: Next post - three adorable little kittens called Fluffy, Taffy and Tiddles.

Secret knowledge

I can't for the life of me remember how I found out about sex. I mean, how you did it. What it involved. I picked it up somewhere obviously, but the actual source is lost in the fog of childhood memory.

It certainly wasn't from my parents. In those days, most parents were acutely embarrassed about the subject in front of their children. My parents would only refer to it in the most roundabout way, through double entendres and cryptic euphemisms.

In the 22 years I lived with them I never saw any evidence of their sex life. They kept it very carefully hidden, strictly confined to the bedroom and never shared with us kids. We knew "something" was going on, but what exactly that something was, we could only guess.

I didn't learn anything from my teachers either. At that time sex education was unheard of, and decent schools would never get involved with "that sort of thing". Maths and grammar naturally, but sex? Not at all appropriate for a school curriculum. And of course most teachers were as embarrassed about it as the parents.

Nor did I glean anything from other boys. If they were up to anything sexual, they didn't mention it to me. It was a guilty secret they kept to themselves. Even in the sweaty intimacy of changing rooms and dormitories, the subject never cropped up. Or was my sheltered and prudish mind simply blocking out whatever I heard?

Somewhere along the line I put two and two together and worked out what this sex thing was all about. But the when and the who and the how is lost to memory. No wonder my first sexual experiences entailed a great deal of fumbling and panic and semi-ignorance. I'd just about discovered the basics but there was an awful lot I still had to learn.

What a great advance it is that today's kids are brought up in a more enlightened atmosphere and can learn more easily and naturally about this very basic aspect of life without all the squeamish secrecy and sheepishness of an earlier age.

The perils of honesty

In principle, I believe honesty is the best policy. If we were all totally honest about everything, life would run a lot more smoothly.

There would be fewer misunder-standings, less mistrust, closer relationships, less scope for furtive affairs or hidden bank accounts, and less chance of dreadful discoveries about your new wife or husband. Everything would be visible and upfront, everything would be clearer and more straightforward, and we wouldn't always be swimming around in a haze of misinformation.

In reality, of course, total honesty would be disastrous. In no time we'd have offended so many people and revealed so many damaging facts we'd be seen as a hopeless liability and ostracised by all and sundry.

If we actually told our relatives or neighbours or bosses how nasty they were, the reaction would be pretty nasty too. If we told our spouses how much we secretly fancied the man/woman at the house opposite, or told our workmates we didn't in fact speak three languages fluently, or told our new landlord we were evicted from our previous flat, it would only upset our well-ordered lives for no good reason.

I guess at one time or another we've all covered up for a workmate who's made a complete mess of something, so they don't get a bollocking from a permanently irascible boss. And so they'll cover for us when we screw something up ourselves.

We invariably defend our loved ones when they're criticised by a friend or relative, even if we privately agree with the criticism. My wife* might very well be stingy and self-righteous, but I'm not going to add to the brickbats and leave her tearful and upset. No no, I hasten to say, she's just sensible with money and has strong opinions.

Several times over the years I've been aware that a workmate or friend, unbeknown to their regular partner, is flirting heavily with someone else, or even dating them, but I've kept quiet. What business is it of mine? And why tell the ignorant victim if it'll only distress them and this sudden fling might fizzle out next week anyway?

Like most things, honesty works best in small doses. Too much can be fatal.

*Not my real wife obviously. Jenny is naturally generous and open-minded at all times. And she always helps old ladies across the road.

A long time dead

I'm amazed someone can be declared dead and then spend 25 years with a new identity without anyone smelling a rat. But that's what a Chicago man managed to do.

Forty year old Arthur Jones vanished in May 1979 after being sacked as a commodities broker and struggling to pay off tens of thousands of dollars in gambling and other debts.

In 1986 he was pronounced dead, and his wife and children collected about $47,000 in benefits. They claim to have never heard from him since.

But Mr Jones, now 72, was tracked down last week in a Las Vegas bookmakers, where it seems he worked for a decade. He had been living with his girlfriend for 22 years. He was arrested and charged with crimes including fraud, burglary and identity theft.

He reportedly bought a fake identity for $800 under the name Joseph Richard Sandelli and has used it ever since. He was only found out after someone got suspicious about his Social Security number.

Apart from the sheer ruthlessness of abandoning his wife and children without a word and leaving them in a colossal financial mess (or so it's claimed), I wonder how on earth he avoided detection for so long. You'd have thought there would be something fishy about his new ID or his account of his life that would have raised a few doubts pretty quickly.

I guess it shows how easily we trust other people. We believe what they tell us - their name, their personal details, their life history. Why should we disbelieve them unless there's some obvious sign they're lying?

But it must have taken an astonishing acting ability. He must have adopted his new alias so completely, so seamlessly, that he never betrayed himself, never gave any clue he had a second identity. His wife and children, his previous job, his huge debts, all securely buried in a corner of his mind and never ever revealed. What perfect self-discipline!

When you think how hard it is to keep a secret, and how easily we blurt something out when we're not totally vigilant, or we're drunk, or we're under pressure, his impregnable silence is impressive.

PS: A further thought. Did he not love his wife and children? So how could he bear to leave them and never see them again? Wouldn't he have felt a terrible sense of loss and emptiness?

A secret stash

People hide all sorts of things from their partners. Phobias, wild crushes, midnight binges, body hair. And quite often, it seems, secret savings accounts.

A new study says that one in five men and one in ten women have private stashes they don't reveal, averaging £2000 but sometimes a lot more.

They have all sorts of reasons for squirrelling it away. In case the relationship fails, because it's none of their partner's business, because it gives them some financial independence, and for men because a stash of cash makes them feel more masculine.

Those high-earning bankers in the City of London are said to be particularly prone to hiding large chunks of their earnings from their partners. It must be pretty easy, with such astronomical sums flying in all directions.

There's no way Jenny or I would have secret accounts. We've had joint accounts for many years and whatever's in them belongs quite clearly to both of us. When we first met I had my own bank account with quite a sizeable sum in it (which Jenny knew about) but we eventually pooled all our money.

I suppose if you genuinely think your relationship might collapse, then having some private savings is a sensible precaution, to enable you to start afresh. But I can't see any other good reason for salting away money your partner doesn't know about.

To me it suggests terrible deceit and lack of trust, keeping something very important from them because they might not approve. And if you're hiding something so significant, what else might you be hiding that they ought to know about? A taste for secrecy can spread into umpteen areas, like a virus, until deceit becomes routine.

Affair assumption

At my grand old age, people must assume I've had several affairs, that at some time or another I must have been carrying on behind Jenny's back. But I never have.

It's partly because I'm just not devious or cunning enough to keep an affair secret. It's partly because I never had the energy to keep two women on the go at once. And it's partly because I've never been besotted enough with another woman to want a serious fling. I'm obviously an engrained monogamist.

Well, it's difficult enough keeping one relationship going, if you're serious about making it work and giving the other person the tender loving care they expect.

How people manage to do that twice over I don't know. I suspect they don't, that one or the other partner always gets short shrift, marginalised and neglected and frustrated.

But I'm amazed how affairs can be kept secret for so long. You hear of affairs that lasted five or ten years without the husband or wife ever knowing. How can anyone really close to their partner not pick up on suspicious behaviour pretty early on?

I'm sure I couldn't have had an affair for more than a week without leaving Jenny some fatal clue - a mysterious phone message or an unfamiliar fragrance or a dubious-sounding 'engagement'. I expect my face alone would give me away, as I'm not good at hiding my emotions.

Some people actually relish the danger, the frisson of a clandestine mate their regular squeeze is unaware of. But I couldn't stand the stress and strain myself, it would destroy all the pleasure.

No, I'm as clean as a whistle in that respect. Boringly loyal and devoted and dependable. Even though I'm a hopeless rebel in so many other ways.