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It was our seventh wedding anniversary today and no one is more surprised that my wife has not only stuck with me this long, but still seems reasonably content with her impetuous decision to become my bride (after only four years of courting). Obviously I still can’t believe my luck, but let’s not ask too many questions about how this has happened, lest my wife realises her foolishness.
We had a kid free day and a trip to London to celebrate this incredible success. We’d intended to buy each other a present, but we didn’t find anything for ourselves, but we bought the kids something, which is maybe more appropriate. Our present was a day to ourselves doing the kind of normal stuff we were able to do before we made the ridiculous decision to marry. So we went to look at Roman stuff in the British Museum and then had lunch in a nearby restaurant - where we’d last gone the day before Phoebe was born, so it might have had slightly weird associations for Catie - then shopping and then to see Us at the cinema. We snuck in some chocolates and booze - for Catie, I maintained my fast. It was all a bit ad hoc and unplanned, but probably the better for that. We had, coincidentally driven past Marylebone Registry Office where we’d tied the knot within an hour of the actual time we got married seven years ago (though neither of us could remember 100% what the time was).
There is never any room for complacency in a marriage and we’ve had our ups and downs through those seven years (but most of the downs were down to exhaustion caused by our stupid decision to have children), but I allowed myself a moment of pride at us having made a success of this. Seven years is ages. There’d be no shame in getting divorced now.
We had remarkably managed to find an empty parking space on the street about 150 metres from the Museum. For free as it was Sunday, though it wasn’t entirely clear if the two hour maximum stay limit still applied. As we walked up the road we passed a very expensive looking red sports car parked on double yellow lines. People were having their photo taken by it, as it was such an unusual model. When we came back from lunch one hour and 57 minutes later it was still there and now had a ticket on the windscreen. People were queuing up to have their photo taken still. And I guess if you own that car, which I presume cost in the six figures, then you don’t mind getting an £80 fine for the convenience of parking where you want.
I’d enjoyed the museum, which was packed and had a long queue to get in (but dude, I’m a member, so we got to pass the queuing idiots who hadn’t paid £75 a year and not visited in the last two years). Still that was my own version of owning a sports car.
After we’d seen the Roman displays we passed through a room which showed the history of money. At the end were credit cards and various stuff from today. A kid of about 10 was standing by that cabinet and saying, “So ancient” to his parents who weren’t listening to his funny joke. “So ancient” he repeated with the same intonation, glee and apprentice sarcasm. “So ancient.” He wasn’t giving in or losing heart with his joke. He’d have it acknowledged with a laugh or he would die. I was halfway through the exhibit and could still hear him parroting “So ancient” with exactly the same level of confidence, even though no one was laughing. I turned round and shouted “Yes, you stupid fucker. Something being in a museum does not mean it has to be old. But the thing to realise here is that the things you see as familiar and every day will one day be viewed as ancient and weird and maybe in not that many years. That’s why no one’s laughing.”
I didn’t really.
Anyway back home to my kids for bath time - my daughter had her face painted like a blue tiger and my son gave me a big hug like I’d been away for months. It’d been nice to be away but it was good to be back.
They weren’t here seven years ago. Where the Hell did they come from?
I am still the luckiest.
