On September 10th 1977, in photos that make me look approximately 14 and a true victim of the fashion impact of glam rock and Derek Hobson's ties (a TV presenter back then), I married Mr and Mrs Bill's oldest daughter.
She, clearly not entirely aware of the depths of patience, tolerance and stability that would be required to pursue a relationship with such a mardy-faced nutter, nor the many regional accents her husband would encounter and be forced to try out on the journey, stuck it for, to date, 29 years 11 months and 10 days.
She has been a widow to alternative music, West Brom cup final defeats and victories, a lounge full of only Subbuteo for about ten years, a succession of youth groups who considered the house their own, four long-term house guests when we had no spare rooms, two sons who stayed longer than expected, bless, and at one time a male labrador who didn't consider personality crises should be restricted to humans.
Through all this she has pursued a second career with some success and shown little fragility of character apart from when within ten miles of a clothes store.
We had a party for our silver and it was fun. Five years on seems a bit soon for a repeat so here's the plan. On Saturday September 8th we will be in the Old Barn at Wraxall for the evening and will buy drinks. If you reckon it is near enough to call by then do drop in for one or several ales. The Butcombe is excellent, the St Austell Tribute outstanding and even the Timothy Taylor has made it out of Yorkshire safely enough. There's cider too but we've begun to notice what that does to people after almost a year here moi luvvers.
There's no food (you'll see why if you come) although we may make some sarnies and there are take-aways in town. Beds for the night are also available for those who wish.
It will be a minor do and we won't stay out late as they make me work Sundays. Absolutely no presents please. We have enough stuff.