Today is my wedding anniversary! Yes, sixteen years ago today (at least I think it’s today – every year Pud and I have to refer to historical records as we can never remember if we got married on the fourth or fifth of August. How bad is that?), I married the man of my dreams (and one or two nightmares) and that surely must be cause for celebration!
And by this I mean that we will be spending our anniversary as we always do – Pud will toddle off on his annual cricket overnighter which always falls on our anniversary weekend and results in him and his mates drinking large amounts of beer in between watching a tiny amount of cricket when rain doesn’t stop play (actually Pud doesn’t drink quite as much since the time he got so wasted he ended up throwing our picnic bag in the river Trent because his mates told him to, but that’s another story for another day) and I will be drinking to our very good health, quite possibly with the other cricket widows left behind this weekend.
Am I complaining? Not on your nelly! How do you think we’ve survived the last sixteen years together without a murder taking place? By avoiding each other of course! Yes folks, forget love, trust, honesty and all that romantic nonsense – my one tip for a long and happy marriage would be to avoid each other wherever possible. It’s a no-brainer – for how can you argue if you’re not in the same room as each other?
Joking aside, I did have a peek at our wedding album today (because I have not completely moved over to the dark, cynical side of marriage) and it brought back so many happy, funny memories of our wedding day. From the fabulous bucks fizz breakfast my mum made for us all, to sharing a sneaky nip of whiskey with my Dad when it was just us two waiting for the wedding car to take us to church. From the vicar dropping the wedding rings, to him calling my brother by the wrong name. From Pud getting out of the wedding car and slamming the door in my face while I sat there waiting for him to help me out, to two of his friends streaking on the rugby pitch at our reception venue. From burning a hole in my veil when I lit up a cigarette (classy), to one of Pud’s mates (the streaker – in hindsight we shouldn’t have let him drink) grabbing the ties on the back of my dress and shouting ‘Yeeee haaaaa’ as he tried to gallop me round the room.
Yes, it certainly was a day to remember.
But one of my enduring memories of the day and for ever after (apart from our wonderful friends and family being there to share it all with us of course) was our photographer, specifically chosen for his cheapness and his promise not to make Pud and I pose in any stupid ‘candid’ shots. When he eventually turned up, he kept to his side of the deal and produced a set of photos that managed to make us look as awkward as we felt and that he’d tinkered around with in one last bid, I think, to demonstrate what he was really capable of producing given half a chance. I did feel a bit bad that we had stifled his creative juices so I gave him permission to digitally superimpose my eyes onto a picture where I’d had them closed……..
Irrefutable proof that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. Also please avert your eyes from the bright red ‘V’ around my neck – a touch of sunburn acquired whilst watching a cricket game in a V-neck vest a week before the big day.
Happy anniversary Pud (even though you don’t read my blog) xxx