Archive | 12:26

Anniversary Eve

31 May

It’s a public holiday today here in Britain, the day before our wedding anniversary.  There’s a nice symmetry to it because twenty-five years ago there was a public holiday in South Africa, the day before our wedding.  We didn’t know that when we chose the date of the wedding; we looked at the calendar on the HubMum’s wall and picked a Saturday – without looking at the Friday.  Do other people pick their wedding dates more carefully?  We had been engaged for almost three years so we didn’t see why we should wait: we looked for a free weekend a couple of months ahead and that was it.  Then we told my parents, who very kindly used their visit-to-Britain-for-the-first-time-since-emigrating savings to pay for it, and who never once complained about not getting their holiday.

We had a honeymoon in Cape Town.  Have you heard of the Mount Nelson Hotel?

We stayed in a little bed and breakfast place just around the corner from it.  We put away R130 for our week’s food and ate out almost every night.  We did the touristy things like wine tasting and shopping.  The Hub bought me a silver ring and had my new initials engraved onto it.  We fed the squirrels in the Botanic Gardens and even stopped off to look at a nudist beach.  Well, the Hub did, for the novelty, he claimed: I think it might have been the only one in South Africa at the time.  He peeped over the wall and spotted a solitary sunbathing man of the elderly variety.  It wasn’t much of a show because June is early winter in South Africa and he was a bit, um, shrivelled as a result.

We went to the bioscope one afternoon and saw Eddy Murphy in Beverley Hills Cop; there were five of us in the cinema and we were the only couple.

We went up Table Mountain in the cable car.  We had lunch in front of a roaring fire in the restaurant at the top; it was the most romantic moment of our honeymoon. 

 We wandered around the mountain top – which is not as flat as it looks – and spotted dassies, or rock rabbits

We had taken a midweek flight because it was cheaper.   We went out most nights, to different places.  We found a little bar and the singer dedicated a song to us on the Friday night.  On the Saturday night he asked the Hub, ‘Where’s your wife?’  ‘At the hotel,’ was the sullen reply. ‘We had a row.’  I stayed in and watched Cheryl Ladd in a film about Grace Kelly’s life. 

Who’d have believed then that we’d last twenty-five years? 

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