Robbie's getting married

That's right, married. Blimey! The sly fox had kept it under his hat since back in the summertime. He's asked Rachel up a hill in the Peak District, back on their anniversary in July, maybe August. I was full of questions: where? when? In Heron House, as it happens, and during the middle of December too. Heron House, then the Midland Hotel, the Christmas markets, and Sam's Chop House for food. Grand!

What struck me was the quick turnaround between proposal and the big day. Consider the others: Ange and Lewis, two years; Durex and Whelan, eighteen months; Guardi and Vicky, eighteen months; Whitehouse and Flora, eighteen months; John and Zoe, fifteen months; Col and Jane, at least a year; Robbie and Rachel, five months. Wow!

I wonder who's next. Ollie and Zoe? Chubb and Steve?

Zoe

After hammering the ass out of the presentation (to a great response from the audience), and a really exciting afternoon of workshops, I felt enthused about my job in a way that I hadn't in ages. It turns out that my boss isn't typical of our field, and that there are some really committed and keen people. It's not me, it's her, actually. What a relief. I had a couple of pints in the hotel bar, writing up my notes, and waited to meet up with my old and dear friend Zoe. We went for some noodles, and a bottle of wine. The waitress poured our wine, and offered it to me to taste. I took a sip, and screwed my face up, put my tounge out a little, held my throat in pain, "yuck!" She looked shocked. I smiled at her, "Only joking, it's lovely. Thank you." Zoe and I laughed. It was the first of many that night.