Exactly twelve months from …

hold on…

erm…

NOW!…

I asked H if she would go out with me.

She said yes.

They have been the happiest twelve months of my life so far.

Thank-you, H.

So… we were on the traditional sides of the conversation.

We’d discussed that we wouldn’t even think about engagement until we’d been going out for a year, but I’d been sneaking around for a month or two to find the right ring in anticipation of that moment. Having known each other for ten years, we have spent the last 50 weeks failing to be unpleasantly surprised at anything either of us does, and so it happened…

I had a bunch of grand plans… since we’re visiting a three-country point soon, I thought I could propose in the Netherlands, receive the answer from Belgium and present the ring in Germany all in the space of a few seconds.

Then I thought we could go out on a nice anniversary walk, and I could propose on the M42 as we passed by the Coventry Canal, which is - you will hopefully have surmised by now - the place I asked H out. I’m romantic, me.

But on Saturday morning, we both woke up excited about our relationship. We do so quite often. sick bags on the right, the pile on the left has run out. I’ve never had anything feel so right. You know when you look at big wasps all your life saying “Is that a hornet?” but it isn’t a hornet, but you don’t know that but then you actually see a hornet and say “Ahhhh….. now THAT’S a hornet!” and you suddenly realise how foolish you were for thinking big wasps might be a hornet… it’s like that but without the stripy bottom and running around in terror.

Where was I?

So… I was running round in terror and…

No… wait a minute…

So… we were all excited about our relationship, and the final clincher was when H said to me, “You stay right there”, and got up to make me a cup of tea in bed.

After a good cup of tea, I’m anybody’s. As soon as I heard the kettle, I thought - Yes. She is The One. I don’t care if it’s two weeks early. The right time is the right time whether it’s early, late or whatever.

And so I asked.

And yesterday’s conversation took place.

And she loved the ring, which was nice because only a few days ago I had a heart-stopping moment when, with a pink-sapphire ring nestled in my secret location, she declared she hates pink.

“AAARGH!” I said.

No actually, she was still unaware of the ring’s existence. The conversation went something like:

“AAaa*ahem**splutter*… erm… so… er, are you sure you hate pink?”
“No. I used to, but I quite like it now.”
“Thank fu… erm… oh… ah good, that’s nice, dear.”

And so we were engaged. And I am the happiest man in the world. Thanks H!

Ten months have passed since that day where I bagged Brown Clee Hill in Shropshire, and got myself a new girlfriend on the way there.

(She was already in the car accompanying me on the walk… it’s not like I pulled over and picked up a complete stranger)

It has been the very best ten months of my life.

Thanks, H.

The last three months have been the best of my life. I have my lovely lady to thank for that.

Thank-you, lovely lady.

NB: Please join the queue on the left if you need a sick bag

There is something magical about pottering about feeding your houseplants first thing in the morning with Debussy’s Rêverie playing.

or maybe I’m in love