Seven years ago

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Seven years ago today the above was happening.  I know this thanks to Timehop, a handy app that tells you what you were up to in various points in history thanks to stuff you shared on Facebook / Instagram or Twitter.

Seven years ago today the first of Mr B’s stag dos in London.

There was another one in Fleet.   Where I had my hen do.   And I seem to remember we had a joint one at home too.   With karaoke.   The details now though are sketchy.

Why am I telling you this?  Well because last night Mr B surprised me.   I should have known something wasn’t right when he suggested we go to B&Q at 7pm.  Not just the idea of being in a DIY store at that time of night but being in a DIY store fullstop   (do you put a full stop at the end of a sentence that ends with the word full stop?)

Why are we going to B&Q?

I am going to get some paint

What on earth for?

To paint the ceiling on the landing

I should have questioned why that particular task, unattended by either of us for five years since the roof sprang a leak was suddenly so urgent four days ahead of our holiday.

But no.  I had my journey wee and we headed to B&Q.   And then drove past it.

We have just driven past B&Q

We aren’t going to B&Q

Where are we going?

It’s a surprise

This isn’t funny

You will like it. 

But I have no make up on and I emptied the Dyson into the bin five minutes before we came out so I am covered in dog scented dust.  My hair is a mess and I think I forgot deodorant this morning. 

You are fine

<cue arm folding and sulking at the injustice of not going to B&Q>

Five minutes later we pulled up outside a house, that I vaguely recognised.

From seven years ago.

The house where our wedding photographer lives.

For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, we never got around to choosing our pictures for our wedding albums.   We made an initial choice, ordered some as prints for Christmas presents, and then never got around to making our final selections.

Then Rog, Bruce’s brother and best man, died the following year and, well it all just got a bit painful.

We did talk six months or so ago about the fact we hadn’t done it,  despite having paid for it all seven years ago.  I said to Bruce I didn’t care which pics we picked, could he just sort it out.

So he did.

Magical photos that perfectly captured our perfect day.  That show how happy we were.  How young my kids were!  How fabulous our friends and family are.

The photo bottom left is still one of my favourite photos of Rog ever.  It is how I will always remember him.  That and him pinching my arse just as another photo was taken, our faces a picture but unless you are behind us you have no idea why.

How brilliant the fireworks were that we kept a secret from nearly everybody.  The budget for them was three times the budget for my dress and worth every single penny.   They were set to “Something for the Weekend” by Hard-Fi.  If you don’t know the song, go hunt it out on Youtube and then imagine those opening five minutes with fireworks in time to the music.

What an end to the night.

I couldn’t hold the tears in when I looked at them last night, it was all just a bit too much.    And definitely worth the wait.

If only the same could be said for the hole in the roof

PS If you ever need a wedding photographer in the south east, Adam Jefferson is your man.