What a Difference a Day Makes ...

Some days don’t have much to say for themselves. You get up, you go to work, you come home, kiss the other half, eat your dinner and go to bed.

Other days have a lot to say for themselves.

The 2nd May started in the usual sort of way, but by the time our heads hit the pillow, Keith and I had made a very important decision. We’re getting married.

*pause for readers to wipe spat coffee from screens and pick themselves back off floor*

It was all down to Pillock, his lovely wife Claire and their beautiful little daughter Callie. Not that they would know a thing about it yet. We were at Callie’s naming ceremony, and, as you sometimes do at these occasions, we started talking about the future, and about getting married.

We talked about a simple ceremony in the Alameda Gardens in Gibraltar with a small band of family and closest friends watching us from the Bridge of Sighs followed by a simple meal in a restaurant on the beach. We talked about wearing flip flops on our feet, about being there for a week and going on a sharking trip for a stag do. We talked about ending the day on a beach in La Linea looking at the rock with a bottle of champagne between us.

So that’s what we’re doing.

On the 20th June 2007 at 10am

*pause for readers to wipe spat coffee from screens and pick themselves back off floor*

A little short notice, I grant you, but what would be the fun in doing things the normal way?

This weekend was mainly filled with popping corks and toasting good health, but we managed to achieve another small step forward in the life of FTC. We installed the new frog nursery, otherwise known as the pond.

Reading back a bit, I see now that this event was inevitable and that I should count myself lucky that I can still walk back from work in relative safety. I should count myself doubly blessed that the pond was free, costing us only a little petrol money and a few near death moments in collecting it.

So Sunday morning Keith and veteran pondsman Bill took shovel in hand and started carving out a section of Bedfordshire countryside. Progress was swift and, more importantly, I was left alone to watch Inspector Morse re-runs while planning some details of the impending nuptials.

In need of something to use as ‘padding’ for the pond liner, the boys decided to use the old punch-bag we had inherited from the previous owner assuming that it contained sand. As you can see, they were slightly off but I think the blue rag look is slightly more becoming to the general Bohemia that is slowly taking over FTC thanks to the wonders of Freecycle (although the day Keith meets me at the door having proudly bagged a load of only "slighly soiled" loo roll, I'm off!!)

Having been dragged from the comfort of the sofa to witness the glorious feat of manly prowess taking shape in the garden, it seemed like too much fun not to join in, so the three of us began filling, and backfilling with gusto.

I have to admit, had I realised that less than 2 hours later we would have been finished and contemplating a celebratory drink, I probably wouldn’t have been so reluctant in the first place. Just goes to show, I suppose, what a bit of friendly encouragement can do.

So here it is in all its glory, the pond. In a few short months to be a home of frogs, fish and little multilegged thingames, a place of contemplation and general skiving from work, a drinking hole for the boys after a long tiring walk, and a constant trip hazzard after drunken nights out. Long may she thrive!!