S&C contributor and Pompey Politics Podcast host Ian Morris shares his experience of the lockdown, as someone with diabetes. It’s Day 50, and Ian’s 25th wedding anniversary. The family hadn’t planned to be in lockdown, but they have a plan.
Tuesday 5th May, Day 50 of 89
It was 5.5.95, a date chosen for its numerical beauty as much as any romantic reason.
25 years ago today, I was lucky enough to marry my wonderful wife, Nicky. We had known each other for about five years and, to be honest, it hadn’t started too well. The workplace romance of ‘he was a chemist, she was a microbiologist, and their eyes met across a laboratory bench’ isn’t the stuff of your usual rom-com, but the hero of our story – that’s me – does start the piece as a rather annoying wind-up merchant that led our heroine to believe him to be rather a dick.
Time passes and our hero takes to organising the lab socials with his partner-in-crime, Stearsy. It’s a big night out at the Pyramids and our hero is fortified by rather a lot of Kronenbourg 1664 and invites our heroine for the end of the evening slow dance (does that still happen?), after a little gentle flirtation during the evening.
At work the next week, Stearsy is given instructions to sound out our heroine as to her thoughts towards our hero. ‘My mate fancies you’ from Stearsy was rather a blunt instrument in hindsight, and at this point our hero heads off for a week’s family holiday. He learns later this makes him a dick still, but the course of true love is not diverted and we plan a first date at South Parade Pier fair, followed by dinner at Fatty Arbuckles.
We learn we both hate fairs, and heights, but at least the meal goes well. Later that year, we moved in together in a shared house and three years on is our big day!
It’s early May. I have opted for a three-piece suit, Nicky is in a light, sleeveless silk dress. She wins, it’s 26 degrees that day, and my best man and I have to stop our stroll to the registry office for a cold Diet Coke at Sainsburys. He is in a world of trouble as his right shirt sleeve seems to be five feet long and hanging out of his suit jacket. Later measurement showed the sleeve to be a normal length, but on the day it was all over the place.
We make it there on time. The bride-to-be pulls up in a pink Cadillac and the day is going to plan. There’s a slight awkward moment as the father of the bride recognises that the registrar is an old flame, but we come through it without any lawful impediment…
My late father was 35 years old before he got married, and my grandfather vowed should Dad get married he would need to be carried out of the reception. He was a man of his word, and Cyril took this as the start of a family tradition and by 9pm was safely back at home, having wished us well in the extreme.
A honeymoon in Malta followed – the last time I travelled on my passport for pleasure – and we are set.
Now 25 years on, we have 2 fine sons, Tom and Noah, and a back catalogue with lots of laughter and only a few tears. We hadn’t planned a big celebration, but we also hadn’t planned for a global pandemic to see us locked in our house.
We have decided to just spend the day together and will enjoy a meal with the kids. It’s a shame I can’t share a photo or two with you, as all of ours are analogue. But let me just say this, when Tom saw our wedding photos a couple of years ago, his first response was ‘Dad, you are an absolute poacher, that’s outrageous!’
‘Er, what do you mean, son?’
‘Look at Mum! You were clearly punching well above your weight. I only hope I have your luck.’
You know what, I hope they both do. I am a very lucky man.
Don’t miss Ian’s diary each day, keep an eye out for new entries here, along with past editions of the Pompey Politics Podcast. How are you managing the lockdown at the moment? Get in touch with us over on Facebook or Twitter and let us know your experiences and any hints and tips you’re finding helpful right now.