By then, I’d picked up a smattering of the language, as an expat picks up a few phrases after six months in the new country. My ex is crazy: I treat women poorly. My ex is controlling: I am a cheat. My ex is bitter: I am incapable of linking cause and effect. My ex took me for everything I had: she received an amount commensurate with her contribution to our marriage. My ex won’t let me see the kids, though I pay through the nose: I think maintenance payments ought to work like a VIP concert ticket, where you buy access to the performer, irrespective of my failings as a parent. You’re different to other birds: I believe women are more or less interchangeable. I’d sit there, thinking that mothers who tell their girls they’re special send them out into the world with a flank exposed. Occasionally, I asked these men why they got married in the first place. I got the same answer every time: No man ever wants to get married. It’s always for they girlfriends.