The Indian Ocean is 73,500,000 square kilometres and my wedding ring is about 2cm across, making it about 0.0000000000003% the size of the body of water we are staying in. So imagine how hard it would be to find if I lost said ring in the afore-mentioned ocean.
(I know there are some flaws with such an argument about finding it amongst the whole Indian Ocean as it is unlikely that I lost the ring anywhere near the Seychelles or Sri Lanka, in fact the area it could have been in was about the size of half a football pitch, but it ruins the dramatic intro).
After 30mins of snorkeling (with my factor 50 suncream and a t-shirt on) I suddenly noticed that my left ring finger was naked. Two thoughts crossed my mind, should it tell Mrs G and would she believe me. Well the answers to these are I did and she didn’t.
In which I choose someone I want to spend time on the sofa with.
I often have discussions with Mrs G about the impact each of us had had on the others lives. It tends to be one of those in depth conversations where she is on the laptop and I saving various continents from peril. It normally means that my syntax structure is determined by the blasts of lightning from my magic shaft.
The basic gist is that we compliment each other fairly well, even though we have similar tastes and interests we are still very different people in terms of our temperament. She is a humanities person where I’m the scientist, she is the loud-mouthed American and I’m the repressed Brit. Continue reading “Marrying for friendship”
In which I convince someone to move from New York for a ring.
I know the exact distance I would go for love, it’s 3364.9 miles. This was the gap between me and Mrs G when we first got to know each other. I was living in a flat in Birmingham (UK) and she was sitting in her apartment in Briarwood (NY). The distance may have been large but all that separated us was one body of water.
Well one significant body of water and the bureaucracy that involves trying to begin a relationship with someone living in a different country. From the rantings of the more right-leaning media you would think the immigration system in the United States or Kingdom was as easy to get into as Republican race for President (*Boom* Satire).
In fact the question isn’t how far I would go for love but how hard will I work for it.
In which needing someone else’s help is hard but important.
It’s a strange topic to talk about today because I’m pretty happy. That’s because today is Mine and Mrs G’s third wedding anniversary. Even though we are not even out of the good anniversaries yet (this one is leather) it still seems like a long time. That is meant in a good way.
Often this blog is very flippant and doesn’t take things seriously, hopefully readers understand that and don’t think I’m just some random angry little man with access to the internet (surely if I was I would be more active on Twitter). One of the reasons for this is that I have been in a place where I have let life become too serious and feared it would take the heart of me. That now seems like even longer ago.
Just like many other people I have had moments where my mental health has not been as robust as it could have been, I have been treated for depression. I look at it as just another illness I had, and just like asthma or hay-fever I had treatment for it and got better. Even so, I still take precautions to make sure I don’t have another bout of the blues.