Yesterday, Mark and I had our 12th wedding anniversary. Which meant that we did not do anything different, and no one gave anyone any gifts or cards, but we were kind to each other and went to the zoo. And had slow-roasted lamb for dinner with chocolate Gu pots for dessert. And then watched telly. All in all, a perfectly acceptable Sunday/wedding anniversary. And presents-wise I am still basking in the glory of my champagne Mabel so was happy all round.

So, 12 years ago we got married on the beachfront at One Tree Point, Ruakaka, New Zealand. It was hot, Mark got a burnt and blistered forehead, I wore an oyster and gold dress (still quite stylish, thank you very much – although it no longer does up – SIGH), we had excellent roasted ham (the subject of which unfortunately became the subject of my wedding speech – one of many wedding speeches made by me that are best left forgotten), someone forgot to bring the hired glasses for drinks, the band were a little weak, the wine was bad choice but luckily most of the guests didn’t drink so no one noticed, and the makeup artist forgot to turn up. The Lowest Point Of All was going back to the hall where we held the reception in order to retrieve my makeup box, and finding my parents cleaning up the hall by themselves. So we helped them, sweeping and wiping and packing up chairs – all in our wedding finery and until midnightish. Not an ideal end to the wedding, perhaps.

But it was Our Wedding in the sun on a plot of scrubby family land, and there were horses wading through the water during the ceremony, and my bridesmaids are still women I love and admire, the guests are mostly still people we talk to, and at least one marriage came out of the wedding guest list. The house I got ready in was an old homestead that my grandfather had helped to build. My uncle married us, and said a few simple lovely words which were perfect. And there was some extremely good ham, which I may have mentioned.

Most of all though, in this slightly introspective/New Year-new-me/flashbacky-post, I have the pleasure in acknowledging that I have had a surprisingly good time being married. It turns out it suits us both being married to each other, and that we really do make a good fit. He likes fishing, I like handbags. He likes terrible straight-to-dvd movies, I like net-a-porter clothes. He notices deer and car crashes, I notice accents and perfumes. He never, ever reads my blog, or the paper, only cowboy novels and a bit of weird fantasy-set-in-a-far-off-medieval-land-with-busty-wenches. He has a collection of broken watches, and in storage many, many spades, and Leatherman knives. I scratch my head in wonder, and go play online scrabble with my mother – (never him – he refuses). But it works. I think it may ultimately be our shared love of food which is the glue – maybe the children, but more likely the food. And we do love a good boxset/night at the movies/mince pie.

Here is us cutting the cake. Still eating the cake, 12 years later. Not the actual cake, because it would be bad now, and we do not have the willpower, but some sort of foodstuff, together.