This post will address the multiple times Ad, the husband-elect, asked me to marry him.
The first was whilst feeling rather delicate the day after a rather spiffing night out at one of Bristol's premier dance music establishments, Timbuk2, to see some of our friends DJ at their night Nebula. Everyone was hungover to hell and all getting a bit emotional. And that was the first time he 'proposed'.
The second time was after his work Christmas meal, where he's been steadily drinking since around 1pm. I was pretty sideways myself after spending an evening drinking Tuaca with my good pal, mentor and one of my chief women folk Tuesday Laveau and her husband. This time he was, surprisingly, more lucid and spilled his beardy, french heart to me and quite plainly asked 'Will you marry me'.
The few weeks after this I got restless, to me it seemed like the question was something said in the heat of a drunken moment. I got all rather pissy and moany which prompted Ad to say to me with sheer exasperation 'I've not found the right ring yet'...to which I cried because I'm a horrid person.
Faaaaaaaaaast forward to 7th January 2012, after thwarting his attempts to get me to go to Cabot Tower with him, Ad presented me with a beautiful solid black opal set in a white gold ring as we stood by the river in our home of Bristol and asked me one final time if I would marry him.
...And I said yes.
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