Yesterday was John and my eleventh wedding anniversary. We celebrated in style; I gave him eight cans of Carling and he gave me a night away in a Travelodge without him.
I promise it’s more romantic than it sound. The Carling was a final flourish, an evening of beer and football before what I’m reliably informed his training group have called ‘Get Ripped May’ (I know, I think they could do better too) as the first of his warm up half marathons approaches in a few weeks. Apparently Get Ripped May starts on Monday despite that being 24th of April so Saturday and Sunday night are the last chance for an indulgence.
And my night away? Every three years my college holds a dinner for every student past and present who read Jurisprudence. Its mostly people who are still in the legal profession who come back so it’s a great opportunity to catch up with old friends, only a couple of whom I ever see in a work context, and we all get to have a nice catch up and gossip while we drink something lovely from the college cellars and worry about how young the current students look when we ourselves only left five minutes ago. This year the current undergraduates were born after we matriculated which made us all feel extraordinarily old.
That I went at all, and that I got to stay over so I didn’t have to leave half way through to catch the last train, says more to me that I am loved than any big sweeping gesture ever could.
John is my rock, the person who knows me better than I know myself, and who looks out for me and supports me no matter what. He’ll tell me in no uncertain terms if I’m overthinking something or worrying about stupid things, and the voice in the back of my head that says that I can do it.
He taught me how to catch and the names of a number of now former Celtic players and I introduced him to the concept of vegetables other than potatoes and mushrooms. We are each other’s counterpoint.
Happy Anniversary love; don’t eat all the cheesecake ’til I get home.