Sunday night. The most relaxing night of the week for us, I love it. Let me set the scene for you:
We are in the sitting room. It's a chilly evening so the curtains are drawn and the woodburner has been lit. It's a dark little room and the three small table lamps are providing just enough low light to make the room feel cosy. The fairy lights are twinkling cheerily and the lantern in the fireplace brightens up a dark corner. I'm sitting right next to the fire in my slippers with the dog snoozing at my feet and a glass of sherry beside me.
Sounds nice doesn't it.
But it's not quite as civilised as it sounds.
I do, indeed, have a glass of sherry. I love a little nip of sherry, especially when it starts to get cold. Andrew hasn't been keen previously but seems to have developed a taste for it this year. I'm still sipping my first glass and he has just finished his third. This is making me inexplicably cross. I have been watching him out of the corner of my eye and I think he is downing it in one. Like a shot of tequila. I am only surprised that he hasn't banged the glass upside-down on the coffee table.
We are sharing a bowl of crisps. Well, I say 'sharing' but really it's more of a subtle scrap. Survival of the fittest, if you will. He is shovelling them into his mouth by the handful and I, consequently, am chomping each dainty mouthful as quickly as possible so that I can grab another. The bowl has been refilled once already and I am seriously considering confiscating it whilst I'm blogging. We will probably have a little bit of a bicker about it in a minute. I'll complain that he's eating all of the crisps and he will look at me, bewildered. It won't even occur to him that I'm sitting here struggling to keep up with his mammoth munching session.
It is always the same when we share food. Andrew loves his food and can put away loads of it. This is one of the [many] things I love about him, even though it drives me crazy. Previous boyfriends have been too worried about their physique and subsequently have had smaller hips than me, which is never good for morale.
The TV is on too and the husband is glued to it. Glued. His football team played this afternoon and won. He watched the match; cheered and whooped all the way through it. He is now watching highlights of the very same match and laughing at the cheesy cartoons of the players. Cheering at the goals. Telling me to 'watch this one'. I don't get it. He knows what the score was, he knows exactly what happened, so how can he be fascinated by clips of the match? It baffles me. And it makes me a teeny bit cross every time he tells me to watch it. I can't quite muster up the enthusiasm that he has. I try to whoop too, but I can tell he thinks it's feeble.
I like to observe the way that we live our ordinary life. The things that drive me crazy also make me smile. I laugh every day - a lot. Where I am right now, the life I am living, is everything I ever wanted and more. I am so thankful for the people in my life and everything I have. I am a lucky girl.
It is our very first wedding anniversary next weekend and I've been thinking a lot about the wedding. Remembering all the good stuff. Little moments popping into my mind that I never want to forget. I wish I had been blogging during the run up to my wedding. I'd love to read back on it.
The photo below is one of my favourites from the wedding album. The day was bright and sunny for the most part but there was a spell of cloud and a slight smattering of rain.
I think that we look like stars in a period drama. I love it. We don't look like the sort of couple who spend their evenings sitting on the sofa in their slippers silently squabbling about a bowl of cheese and onion crisps, do we.