Reading time: 8 minutes
It was February 1999, in a small Scottish town called Jedburgh (Jed, or Jeddart to locals).
A chance meeting
I was a 16 year old goth, taking media studies at the local college in Hawick, and spending my weekends sneaking into pubs with college friends. Colin, barely aged 19, had recently moved from Glasgow to spend a few months living with his dad before Uni. He bravely ventured out for a drink after 4 weeks, and met my best friend, J (who is still in my life, and still dear to me).
The next night, he came out again, to hang out with J. We met. We got on. We both liked alternative music, and had a few things in common. A few days later, we both asked J for each other’s phone numbers, and arranged a double date with one of my old school friends for the next Sunday.
The first date
That Sunday was Valentine’s Day. The double date was a disaster. I went a little overboard on the shots, and some random guy walked up to me and slapped my backside so hard that I ran to the bathroom crying. The Borders was a pretty rough place in the 90s… When I emerged, it was to Colin holding his arms out to comfort me, and that was that.
We spent the next day driving around the Borders, me showing him the sights. I remember him telling me his second name, and it taking about 5 attempts for me to take it in. He came home to my parents for dinner. I’ll never forget the shock on his face when dinner was a wedge of frozen pizza with broccoli on the side…
Endless summer
What followed was a blissful, wild few months. Colin got a job as a barman at the pub where my dad ran a folk club (and still does), and I would meet him nightly after his shift. Unfortunately being nocturnal doesn’t go that well with college, and I dropped out. It was a hot summer, and the kind that goes on and on. We didn’t know what would happen after September, so those nights spent talking all night and watching the sun rise felt so important.
Going the (long) distance
Colin moved to Cambridge that September, and for the next few years I visited every month or so. We spent Christmasses in Scotland seeing both families. On my 18th Birthday I boarded a train and moved to London, where we lived for a summer while Colin worked at a web firm. I’m still amazed we survived that summer with our relationship intact. We were flat broke, and couldn’t afford to enjoy London at all beyond the flatshare we were in. At the end of it Colin moved back to Cambridge, and I moved back to Kelso.
In 2002, Colin moved to the US for a semester at Valparaiso University, and then a road trip over summer. We were on-off, it being the days before decent mobile internet. By then I was back at community college, essentially finishing High School. I channelled Colin’s absence, and a dyslexia diagnosis, into getting straight A’s. I wanted to go to university to carve out my own future as an Egyptologist.
An unplanned move
My university plans didn’t quite pan out as planned, because of an English universities’ inability to understand the Scottish education system, and, as a result, my grades. I had to go through ‘clearing’, and choose a univerity and course three weeks before term started. In a blind panic, I choose Psychology at Anglia Polytechnic University (now Anglia Ruskin), where Colin studied. I moved into halls. Colin flew home from the US in September, with his California frosted tips, a single frat boy.
By October, we were back together and I was living with him. Blame Shakira.
Domestic life
What follows is the usual story. We rented a flat when Colin graduated the next year, and stayed in Cambridge until I finished my course in 2005. We considered a move abroad, but settled on going back north.
In Edinburgh we could afford to buy a flat we loved, with a view of the castle, and be close to family. We got our cat, Schrödinger, a few weeks after moving. Over 15 years in Edinburgh we lived in three flats, and settled in to careers. Once we could afford it we travelled often, and we kept going back to Cambridge regularly to see friends. We accrued debt, and we paid off debt. We made the most of the Edinburgh Festivals, and went to dozens of gigs. We grew up. We don’t have children; neither of us have ever felt the need. We were happy in Edinburgh, but grew bored.
Not romantic
We are not romantic. Our Instagram isn’t filled with photos of us kissing at the helm or love letters to one another. We are content and comfortable in our companionship. But we did, eventually, after 14.5 years, get married. I wanted to be legally recognised as a family unit, and I wanted the same surname as my cat.
On my 31st birthday, a few weeks before a holiday to Barbados, Colin suggested we get married while there. There was no big proposal, or flashy ring, or lengthy engagement, because I never wanted any of those things. Marriage to me is a decision that should be made together. I wanted none of the connotations of a woman bought, and I wanted our wedding to be for us, and nobody else, and he agreed.
5 weeks later, we flew to Barbados. Close friends from uni who were living in Virginia at the time and we’d discussed holidaying with, joined us. We married with just our friends, our local friend Johnny, his son, and our wedding planner as witnesses on Bottom Bay, on the day of a tropical storm. We told our families and closest friends later that day. A few days later, we dropped the news on Facebook, and then disappeared alone to Monserrat for 10, blissful, phone-free days.
And now, we sail into the sunset
And that’s it. That takes us to the decision we made a year after getting married, that we didn’t marry just to be apart.
We remain unromantic. No nicknames or hand-holding. No cards or tokens of our affection. Only the occasional present, as we prefer to “do things” over “having stuff”. Eating nice food, drinking nice wine, travelling, and adventures are our romance. Time spent together.
Over the last year, with lockdowns and working from home, we spend all day together. When we moved from Edinburgh to Kelso we purposely set up a joint office. We like to be in each others’ space. We don’t even take baths alone. It works for us.
Hearts and flowers are never going to be our thing, despite celebrating our anniversary on Valentines Day. Our thing is honesty, experience, laughter, dedication, and spending time together.
That should bode very well for being confined to a 45′ catatamaran together for what we hope will be many years to come…
Wishing everyone a happy Valentines Day, however you choose to spend it, and whatever your brand of romance is.
A.
