sharplittleteeth

On this day ten years ago, I paid a visit to a young lady I met through the internet. We've been a couple ever since.

We shall be celebrating in the traditional manner: her working a late shift at the Comedy Festival, me sitting at home, poking at the internet.

That may seem unromantic. But last night we saw not one, but two bearded gentlemen eloquting for our pleasure: Sir Terry Pratchett for the Wheeler Centre, and Daniel Kitson's "The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church." And after Easter, we will be flying down to Hobart to visit the bugfuck insane art-wonderland that it the Museum of Old and New Art.

I'd like to think that having such adventures be part of the normal weft and weave of our daily lives together is far more romantic than some gruding dinner somewhere fancy just because the Earth has orbited a wobbly ball of orange fire the same number of times that we humans happen to have fingers. Isn't it?

Isn't it?

Perhaps I better buy a card or something.

We met, as I said, on the internet. On a.c.g, specifically. These days, saying you met on a newsgroup sounds as archaic as saying you met at the Church Parish Dance, or at Telegraph lessons. But I remember there was one specific post from her that was the tipping point where I went from thinking "she seems kind of cute" to thinking "yes."

It was quiz. Lots of questions about yourself. The twist was you had to answer only with lyrics from songs.

A. being A., she answered using Carter USM.

Don't let anyone tell you pop music can't change the world.

Happy Anniversary, sweetie.