Six of the Best

Today is my wedding anniversary. My sixth to be precise. I checked online this morning: the sixth wedding anniversary is traditional represented by gifts of sugar. I just ate a Bounty bar, so that angle’s covered. Himself, naturally, is at work today. This is only a tiny bit depressing, but it’s not the end of the world. After all, we just had two weeks off together.

For me, six years is quite a milestone. Himself and I have been together as a couple since late 2002, although our paths crossed, literally, in August 2001 at Renewal. It was my first ever LRP event and I was completely confused and bewildered by the whole thing. One of my more vivid memories is of going from the Lions camp to the Viper camp at about 1.30am in the complete darkness and slamming my leg against the very sharp edge of a firepit that someone had seen fit to abandon right in the middle of a thoroughfare. Spent a productive half hour up with the paramedics discovering the joys of instant ice packs. Man, that hurt.

Latterly turned out that Himself and one of his friends had left it there.

I met him properly at the next event I went to: Crusade, at Bloody Wigan, in May 2002. He helped me to put up my tent when I was flailing around with guyropes. He zipped up the front so it didn’t get soggy when the rain started coming down. He loaned me his coat so I didn’t freeze to death. From friendship came something else. And eleven years later, we’re still hanging about in the same place and he still leaves things there for me to fall over. He has been there since The Son was three years old and the pair of them are as close as close can be. He never had any problem with taking on board a child who was not his and that alone has been reason to love him. The fact that he’s actually pretty awesome in his own way may help, I suppose. But don’t tell him I said so.

I don’t go in for massive public displays of affection. I don’t quite know why this should be. When I meet my friends, I hug them gleefully. It may give the outside world the impression that Himself and I are not very close. The outside world doesn’t have a clue. The outside world hasn’t sat on the sofa on a boring TV night with the sound off and listened to us giving dull TV programmes our own voice-overs. The outside world wasn’t there the other night when Himself found a YouTube video that rendered both of us helpless with giggles for about half an hour. Fuck you, outside world. You don’t have a clue.

We got married six years ago today, on board the HMS Trincomalee. This was my suggestion, because I’m an absolute sucker for beautiful old ships and it turned out to be a remarkable venue. The ceremony itself took place in the Captain’s Cabin, which was diligently set up by two volunteer ladies who work for the Historic Quay. I rang Himself before the wedding and reminded him to pop and buy some ‘thank you’ flowers for them. This led to two things: first it led to Himself rushing into Tesco in all his wedding finery to buy some flowers, prompting a comment from the security guard that ‘he was cutting it a bit fine, wasn’t he’ and secondly, it led to tears from the two lovely ladies who insisted that nobody had ever said thank you before. I find it hard to believe some people. However, Himself and I aren’t those people. Those people suck.

I came into the room to the following song. I don’t think I’ve ever told Himself how close I came to not coming in at all. Not because I didn’t want to, but because of the reasons I chose the song. I chose it for its lyrics, first and foremost. But beyond that, I chose it because my mother loved the song. She loved the song and she loved the film and I loved her. She couldn’t be there, having passed away in 2000, but in playing this song, she was with me the whole time. I almost collapsed in a soggy mess of tears the moment the opening bars played. But I went on and married him anyway. And my mascara didn’t run. Bonus!

The ceremony itself was lovely and it does have to be said that the Trincomalee made for lovely photograph backdrops.

In which I admire the bouquet apparently growing out of Himself’s stomach. He manifests flowers! What’s not to love?

So… to Himself, who I rarely dedicate anything (except, you know, Valkia the Bloody), I dedicate today’s blog post. Love you, you fool.

Right, enough soppiness – here’s a tiny hamster with a tiny weapon. Don’t piss off the rodents.

Poke my belly one more time. I dare you.