Twelve years ago...

 today we were wed.

Recycled bride and groom, the London Eye seemed the natural venue.

A ruddy revolution.  

I said I never would.  Capering around the track again?  Not for me, I ‘stoutly’ replied!  The  operative word obv.  Even on our first date I laid out my stall.  All I wanted was a man to get out of the box, for whatever the occasion demanded then smoothly without any animals being hurt in the manoeuvre gently popped back until the next assignment... simples?  Seven long years later of boxing and repacking I relented.

This morning we have both had butter on our single piece of toast by way of celebration.  Who said the art of romance was dead?