When I was 30 I met a nice girl with the same build and hair as the previous love of my life, but without the alcoholism. Great! So for a year we were devoted to each other. She liked cooking for me, and hey, I loved eating. I admired her intelligence and strong character. And her sobriety. But I was still immature and footloose, and after a year I went with a chum on a drunken Greek holiday, where a holiday romance sent me off on a new trail.
Soon after we had first met, a good friend took this photo, in Edinburgh at Festival time. It was in an ancient pub in the Canongate. It had a stone slab floor, all worn and uneven by the centuries, so you had to be careful carrying pints from the bar. George Melly was in the background but I've cropped him out to save space. In those days, designer stubble hadn't been invented, so I was just an unshaven slob.
I like the photo, you can see how my positive regard towards her was distracting me from my own demons. She looks shy and pretty.
There's much more of a story, but I'm loath to tell it, especially as I don't come out of it squeaky clean.
A few years after we split up, her parents sent me a very large wreath of flowers when they heard I had cancer.
A tune from the year the photo was taken : Today, by Talk Talk. The thinking person's Depeche Mode.
DISCLAIMER: any resemblance between anybody and anybody else is purely fictional.
