3rd June 2013
I met Alison on the 31st December 1999, amid fireworks. One of those chance encounters that nags away in the aftermath, that deserve more than chance in the resurrection. So four months later I embarked on resurrection and personal fireworks. The day after, we were two. Two years later, we shared a house. Three years later, a daughter. Four years after that, a second.
Thirteen years on, I look back and think... Bloody Hell, how lucky was that?! I went out on News Year's Eve at the turn of the millennium, intending to return with a foot in the next century. Not to have taken the first steps toward finding out what the rest of my life was going to be about: Me and Ali D, Abby and Hatty. A house full of women to adore, if I am so minded. Which, most days, I am.
And the one thing we aren't is joined in the eyes of the church or the state, in certified harmony. I'm not really a church, state, certificate sort of chap: a principle thing - perhaps a twattish and stubborn and arrogant sort of thing - but not an 'afraid to let the world know what I feel about her and the life we have' sort of thing.
Ali D is fifty years old today. Beautiful and funny and principled and tolerant and cleverer than she knows. And I wake every day and grin at my huge good fortune. I deny all possibility of an afterlife - but, just in case: I'll love you to my dying day - and beyond.
I met Alison on the 31st December 1999, amid fireworks. One of those chance encounters that nags away in the aftermath, that deserve more than chance in the resurrection. So four months later I embarked on resurrection and personal fireworks. The day after, we were two. Two years later, we shared a house. Three years later, a daughter. Four years after that, a second.
Thirteen years on, I look back and think... Bloody Hell, how lucky was that?! I went out on News Year's Eve at the turn of the millennium, intending to return with a foot in the next century. Not to have taken the first steps toward finding out what the rest of my life was going to be about: Me and Ali D, Abby and Hatty. A house full of women to adore, if I am so minded. Which, most days, I am.
And the one thing we aren't is joined in the eyes of the church or the state, in certified harmony. I'm not really a church, state, certificate sort of chap: a principle thing - perhaps a twattish and stubborn and arrogant sort of thing - but not an 'afraid to let the world know what I feel about her and the life we have' sort of thing.
Ali D is fifty years old today. Beautiful and funny and principled and tolerant and cleverer than she knows. And I wake every day and grin at my huge good fortune. I deny all possibility of an afterlife - but, just in case: I'll love you to my dying day - and beyond.
Happy Birthday Ali D. Gorgeous Woman.
