Read in the Guardian Saturday about Tim Dowling’s anniversary woes. Or lack thereof. Depends on how you look at things.
We are pretty much the same here. We see little point in celebrating a day when I literally had to force the Resident IT Consultant to take the whole day off work, and not just the far more efficient afternoon only.
The first anniversary I suppose we believed we had to act normal (hah), so planned a meal out. The night before was eventful in that a stranger who was ‘being chased by Mrs Thatcher’ broke our front window in an effort to draw attention to his situation. After a night talking to the police, I spent the day waiting in for the return of the glazier who had promised to be back ‘lunch time’. Asked the Resident IT Consultant for the phone number and then phoned up and was rude to someone who said he’d be more than happy to help, but he hadn’t actually been the one who’d come earlier…
We then mostly ignored the day when it came by, until I carelessly mentioned to Esperanto Girl that it was our tenth. She was horrified to learn nothing was planned or even intended and forced us to go out for dinner.
And then we lived as happily as Mr and Mrs Dowling seem to do, with me occasionally disappearing off to book events which just happened to happen on that day. Gothenburg Book Fair, or Bloody Scotland. That sort of thing.
Judging by Tim’s column about their pearl anniversary, it’s fairly close to our ruby one. Which we spent in Daughter’s soon-to-be home hoovering up sawdust and taking cardboard to the tip. It was perfect!
The Occasional Bookwitch 