It was my steel wedding anniversary at the weekend, otherwise known as “How-long-is-it-again-eleven-years”. Since I recently blogged on the subject of nuptials (5 May 2012) I will keep this brief, but I couldn’t resist a little speculation on the worst possible gifts to mark the occasion.
Handy for jemmying open recalcitrant jars of night cream but too scary to be romantic. In the face of steel teeth I would panic and scour the streets for a crowd of sinister Brazilian carnival puppets among which I might hide. Not many of those to the pound in Surrey. Frensham’s Scarecrow Festival could work if I get desperate.
DVD Box Set of Sapphire and Steel
I would envy Joanna Lumley’s haircut and wonder wistfully what it might take to make David McCallum smile and I might have to take myself off to compose an ode to Love Across the Sands of Time and that would be the end of a romantic evening with a real person.
The Ring would be good, except of course that it is golden and must therefore be saved for 39 years’ time. The Promise is too tragic, while Martha’s New Daddy is plain wrong. Where to turn? Where to turn? Disaster everywhere I look. And not in a good, Danielle-Steely kind of way.
Nice thought, until you remember the band’s appearance on Top of the Pops dressed in Womble suits. This would not light the touch paper of romance beneath this particular love cauldron, although I might develop an urge for litter-picking on Hankley Common.
What are we left with? Bolt cutters? A neck brace? Some kind of vehicular chassis? It’s a problematic anniversary, friends. And then I remember – with unalloyed joy – that it’s over and done with now anyway. Next up: silk. Hurrah!