It's been quite a month for milestones. They come in groups, apparently. A little like buses, but perhaps without the social stigma.
Tomorrow is our tenth wedding anniversary. And they said it wouldn't last. Actually, they didn't. In fact, I'm not sure who "they" would have been in any case. Quite frankly, Katie and I have clearly done the rest of the adult population a big favour over the last decade by keeping each other suitably occupied and off the market.
In some countries we'd get a medal for this. That's all I'm saying.
Anyway, the tenth anniversary is officially classed as 'tin' or 'aluminium'. Given that my spelling of the latter is going to disenfranchise my friends across the Atlantic, we'll go with tin. Now I don't want to sound like an ingrate, but it just seems a little low-rent. At least we've moved on from those silly low-number ones, like the paper anniversary at year one.
Let me tell you, buying your other half an A4 pad is no celebration.
So tomorrow we've booked the day off work. We're going to a very nice hotel in Stratford which is half-timbered in a non-ironic way. I fully expect a portion of the afternoon to be spent at the Dirty Duck. Then we're nipping next door to see A Midsummer Night's Dream at the RSC.
For reasons I will expand upon shortly, this might well be the last bit of tranquility I get to experience for the next few weeks. Oh, the mystery.