32

No, I haven't got the answer wrong, though it looks as though Barney has. This is worrying because of the two of us, he does dates, numbers and times and I do names, pictures and definitions. (though he believes himself to be as good at definitions as me, 32, or 34, years of dictionary checking support me on this one)
Anyway, today we have been married for 32 (or 34) years.
I'm pretty sure it's 32. I'm pretty sure we got married in 1974, 4 from 6 is 2 isn't it?
Oh well we'll get it together later.
We're doing OK. Because we are basically interested in different ways of looking at the world, we do our own separate things a lot. We have music in common and a love of reading and food and people and drink and the country and oh, lots of stuff. We make a good trivial pursuit team since as well as numbers, dates and times, he does random facts and american presidents and sport and I do music (as long as it's not pop, we both fall down there) and oddly enough, some science stuff, particularly medical and natural.
Since we both resent criticism, we've come to an accomodation in which we try very hard not to criticise each other too openly. Snide comments invariably cause a minor conflagration. We have to watch it!
I'm wandering. The point is, we weren't made for each other (except as a quiz team, obviously) but we find the best way to get on is back to back, facing out at the world and occasionally relaying interesting or important information over the shoulder to each other. Sometimes we find ourselves moved to stand shoulder to shoulder snarling or laughing at the same thing. Sometimes we move a little away from each other and decline to communicate. As we get older and deafer, (oh alright, more deaf) we quite often find each other shouting crossly over the opposite shoulder and it takes a while to realise we were saying the same thing.
Sometimes we do in fact say exactly the same thing at the same time together and this makes us hoot with foolish satisfied laughter.
Yay. Not made in heaven (neither of us does God), but pretty well constructed all the same.

On a different subject, I always thought that given my natural tendencies to absentmindedness, slightly unsuitable clothing and drinking and smoking, it would be sensible to follow the path of least resistance and become (in good time) an eccentric old lady.
As I actually teeter towards old age, some problems have become apparent with this plan.
To avoid the alternative and undesirable appearance of senility it's important not to;

• Be dishevelled or smelling of dogs, drink or fags
• Bore people with your outdated opinions and intolerance
• Lose command of the language (your native one anyway)
• Hit things with cars (not that I do this often but who knows what may happen as my eyesight gets worse)
• Forget where you are going or what you are talking about
• Get so fat that you can't move unexpectedly quickly from time to time
• Repeat the same story frequently to the same people you told it to before

But to be enjoyably eccentric it is necessary to:

• Be able to hit things with walking sticks, umberellas and unerring accuracy
• Appear to be on the ball at all times (even if not the same ball as everyone else)
• Be able to convey withering scorn and /or huge kindness and understanding in a pithy sentence or two
• Hear everything that you need in order to convey the impression that you only hear what you want to hear
• Remember everything you're told about everyone so that you seem to know everything about them
• Have several interesting and strenuous hobbies at which you excel (sky diving, steeple chasing, motorcycling. That kind of stuff)
• Dress with impeccable style

Hmm.
OK. time to consider plan B.
Treading on hedgehogs?*

I hope I didn't hurt him too much.

*I ought to mention that it was dark...I didn't tread on him deliberately.