When I mentioned to a colleague that my 31st wedding anniversary was coming up I found that she too had been married for 31 years this year. “You get less for murder” she said.
But it is true, the Berkshire Belle and I have been married for 31 years this week, having lived in sin for a couple of years before that. It was a shotgun wedding; the children, four between us, insisted. And we are still here together despite many colleagues claiming that it would be a six week wonder (not only did we work together, I was her boss).
The Registry Office has since been demolished, although that was nothing to do with us and was presumably not an attempt to destroy the record of our union. Just in case though, here is a photo from the occasion. The Wonder of Wokingham looks pleased with her side of the bargain whilst I appear to be examining the small print before signing; well I was a member, by examination, of the Chartered Institute of Purchasing and Supply and thus had a professional duty to check any contract before appending my moniker.
The Voice of the Bloke at the Back 