Feeling refreshed today after a very amusing bicker with Mrs F-C since the moment we woke up. Sometimes it's just like that. I know I shouldn't but I can't resist winding her up. She gets so cross, so quickly it's too good an opportunity to miss. And I'm sure she deliberately mishears me so she can pick a fight. She loves it really. That's why we've been together for 17 years, and married for 11.
Have I ever told you story of how we met? If you're sitting comfortably, I'll begin.
It's 1988. I'm into my second summer of working at a famous, very old-fashioned central London bookshop. Aztec Camera and Prefab Sprout fill the airwaves. It's a post-university no responsibilities job, where everyone's the same age and on a short term contract and only interested in Having A Good Time, which we did. In fact, it was one of the best times of my life.
August, and I see a girl walk through the door into my department with a clipboard and quizzical expression. It's Future Mrs F-C. 'She's the one for me' I thought. But hang on.
It's October and a foxy school-leaver starts. After never believing for a moment she could possibly fancy me, it turns out she does and we start going out. But it's not right. She's too young, she's highly irritating, we've nothing in common and I don't know how to extricate myself from it. In the interim, the future Mrs F-C has become a good pal, she's a big laugh and likes and drink. On arriving at Foxy School-leavers flat with the intention of going to see A Fish Called Wanda with her, there's Future Mrs F-C on the sofa, pals with Foxy School-leaver's flatmate. 'I should be with her,' thunk I.
Come late November, Need You Tonight is a staple on the jukebox, and just in the nick of time before I'm forced to meet Foxy School-Leaver's parents in Bristol, I pluck up the courage and it's all over. But Future Mrs F-C and I have become such good pals and spend all our time together. But nothing happens. For two years.
So let's move onto 1991. Paul Abdul, Right Said Fred and Jesus Jones rule the airwaves. Foxy School-leaver is but a memory, despatched to a provincial university never to be seen again. By this time Future Mrs F-C and I are so inextricably linked there's no way back. All our friends tell us both together and individually how we should be together. We know it, but the pressure's on. So let's really pile it on. Let's go on holiday.
My flatmates assured me that if we didn't return as a couple, I would be dismembered. I knew it was going to happen. She knew it was going to happen.
The plan was, let's fly to Istanbul, we'll stay there a couple of days then travel round a bit. We arrived at Istanbul airport and asked a taxi driver to take us to the hotel area. Dumped outside the very unexotic Hotel Florida, £6 a night, not much running water and dirty sheets. But with neither of us being the backpacking type this didn't happen. We stayed the week and fell in love. Well, we were already in love, we just needed to er, seal the deal.
On arrival at Heathrow my flatmates were holding a Mr and Mrs F-C sign up. Just as well it wasn't a disaster.
So that was 16 years ago this month. When we talk about it now we can't believe we took so long to get it on? It's madness. But here we are years later and we're still here and we're still happy. Seems it was one of those things that was meant to be. As I knew when I first saw her, she's the one for me.
12 comments:
Aah, what a lovely story. Don't you just love it when a plan works? But there you go, I'm a great big, silly old Hector sometimes.
I have fond memories of Prefab Sprout too, although I went to see A Fish Called Wanda with my sisters.
Ah those late 80s/early 90s. Kind of okay when you think about it.
I never knew you were such a soddy old sod. You'll be sharing your adolescent poetry with us next... ;-)
Sorry, that was meant to say 'soppy' old sod. Good thing my job doesn't involve spelling or anything.
Oh.
Don't tempt me!
You ought to release the soundtrack album of your romance.
How lovely. Paula Abdul, INXS, Jesus Jones. It's a romp through the late 80s/early 90s. Who wouldn't want that?
..and it would be like one of those movie soundtracks with extracts of dialogue in it, so you could have your wedding, and bits of Great Rows Of The Last Seventeen Years before segueing into Real Real Real.
We can have us rowing to Pick Up The Pieces or I'll Never Find Another You. Red wine sick noises opitional.
Does Mrs F-C read your blog?
I bet she'd love that post...
This was a great post, a lovely story and beautifully expressed, although you won't thank me for pointing out that the '...ruled the airwaves' bits are uncannily reminiscent of the style favoured by your best pal and hero, Andrew Collins...!
Mrs F-C doesn't have a clue. I told her recently when she was drunk and the next day she's forgotten all about it. Not that I've got anything to hide from her, but you know...it's a secret. Shhh!
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