It’s our 23rd wedding anniversary today. We’ve been married for half of my life and together for longer than that.
If you want a quick summary: I grabbed hold of my teenage crush and never let go.
From the start, it was obvious I’d fallen for him because I couldn’t stop smiling at the mention of his name. I still do, and he’s not even called Englebert or anything weird.
Like everyone, I’ve had some twists and turns in life that could have crushed me. The only reason they didn’t is because he was here - and because I know he always has been, always is, and always will be.
I mean, I bloody hope so. Otherwise I’m f***ed.
He was the first man I got lost in a kiss with, and the first man who made me feel like I’d found my home.
I’m still lost and found.
This counts as an anniversary card, right?
Song is Decemberists - Once In My Life. The lyrics are about someone waiting all their life for just something to go right for once. I was lucky; I only had to wait until I was 17 to meet my right.
This might be a bit dull for you, so I’ll make it quick.
No, I’m not quoting what my husband says to me in bed, the charmer.
It’s our wedding anniversary today. 18 years ago he took me up the aisle (I’m sorry, this seems to be turning into a Carry On homage).
Strangely, I wasn’t nervous. This was despite the fact that everyone was looking at me and I was wearing a big white frock (although my calm, steady demeanour was greatly aided by the anchoring effect of a pair of 16 hole white DM boots).
I just knew, that’s all. I’d known for a long time: we’d been together for six years already. I was 24 and I was sure. This big, tall, handsome fella, who looked like Nick Faldo when he scrubbed up and Paul Merton when he got up, was who I wanted, who I needed, who I loved.
He was everything. He still is.
Er ... just to be clear, I'm referring to my husband, not Nick Faldo. Or Paul Merton. That’d be a bit weird.
And when I say everything, I mean there is other 'stuff' that I couldn't live without, like our two kids, and our record player.
I'm ruining this, now, aren't I?
Video is the Have I Got News For You credits from 1995, the year we got married.
There are certain ways in which my daughter can outsmart a smartphone. Technically, she was a Google App before Google or apps were invented.
For example, I could use the Gift app on my phone to record who bought which Christmas presents (to help the kids write their thankyou notes). But I tend not to bother, because my daughter can remember - much more speedily, and in much more detail - where every single toy in the house came from, who bought it for her or her brother and how old they were when they got it.
Number facts are her favourite. She may only be able to recite a few of the very easiest times tables off by heart, but her brain does manage to store an awful lot of other kinds of numerical data. The way she observes, stores and calculates this information may not follow traditional mathematical paths of logic, but it works.
She’s really good on dates. Earlier this year, exactly 12 months on from the day we moved home, it was her that pointed out it was our “new house anniversary”. And then there’s her ability to recall people’s ages, birthdays, and their shoe sizes. Which, as you can imagine, comes in especially handy if I’m planning to buy anyone age-appropriate shoes for their birthday.
So it was her that reminded me earlier in the week that my wedding anniversary was coming up:
“It’s on the 30th, Mum. You’ll be married 17 years.”
“Hang on a minute,” I said, mentally calculating 2012 minus 1995. “How did you work that out?”
“I know because you said my cousin Hannah was baby at your wedding and she’s 17, so you’ll be married for 17 years.”
“You’re right, sweetheart. We will have been married for 17 years.”
“Yes. And next year, she’ll be 18, so you’ll be married for 18 years. And the next year, she’ll be 19, so you’ll be married for 19, and the next year she’ll be...”
“All right, don’t milk it.”
So, thanks, data-daughter, for the reminder. And thanks, Mr Drakeygirl (age 47, shoe size 10), for your years of long service. And there’s nothing I like better than a long servicing.
The music I chose for today’s wedding anniversary blog entry is Closing Time by Semisonic, the lyrics of which always make me think of a night that pre-dates the actual track by nearly a decade. The night in question was, oh, about..*coughs*...22 (twenty bloody two!) years ago. I remember being very young, in a very naff bar, with my pals, my brother and my brother’s mate, who was good-looking, funny, and something else that I couldn’t even put words to. I’d never felt anything remotely like what I felt like when I spoke to him. My friend told me she thought this bloke might like me and my brother might be trying to set me up. I turned round to her, and I said: “I’m way ahead of you all. He’s walking me home tonight.”
Christ alone knows where my confidence came from: I was always the friend of the prettier girls blokes wanted to walk home, the ‘mate’ who fellas wanted to have a drink and a laugh with but never fancied.
But he just had walk me home: it was going to happen, and it did.
He’s been my home ever since.
"So gather up your jackets, move it to the exits
I hope you have found a friend
Closing time
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end
I know who I want to take me home...
...Take me home"
Video is Closing Time - Semisonic Related posts: Certain Start
The black and white photos of the big day show an impossibly young-looking Dad with a kind of pudding bowl quiff hairdo, the legacy of national service. Mum looks film star glamorous. Dad is gazing at her with complete adoration. He hasn’t stopped looking at her like that ever since.
They’re having a party today, along with almost all of the people I love most in this world, including their three children, eight grand-children, and one great-grandchild.
I’ve got to make a little speech. I’ve not worked out exactly what I’ll be saying yet, although I know I’ll be mentioning how Dad fought off a battalion of other suitors, including Alan Bentley, who jived with Mum in the school cellars, and Darcy Smart, who took her up to Goodwood (which, believe it or not, is not a euphemism).
But I’m not remotely nervous. Because in the end, after a few silly jokes and maybe one rude one to shock the elderly aunties in the room, the message I’ll have is a simple one: “Ain’t love grand.”
Everyone there loves them to bits. Everyone knows how kind, generous, funny and thoughtful they are. Everyone knows how much they adore eachother.
