Rabbits are perfect creatures. You’ll grow to love them.
So I was thinking how intimidated I am by Hugh Grant.
At some point during almost every romantic comedy, the female lead suddenly trips and falls, stumbling helplessly over something ridiculous like a matchstick and then some soft, sensitive type either whips around the corner just in the nick of time to save her or is clumsily pulled down along with her.
That event predictably leads to the magical moment of their first kiss.
For me, if I tried that, the only exchange of bodily fluids would be the blood pouring from a gaping wound and the only kiss would be her face on the pavement.
The thing is you can plot relationships by the kisses. The first throws of passion – sloppy desperate feasting of someone’s face or the warm and tender ‘good morning’ kisses. Even the ‘I’m sorry I upset you’ lingering cheek peck.
The one kiss that is different is the leaning forward and kissing the forehead one.
I remember that one. It was a lovely warm day in the Chapel of Rest but as I kissed her, I remember she was cold. Not winters cold, but like a stone statue. She was like something from the Michelangelo School of perfection.
And that was my kiss goodbye.
She just needed to know she was loved.
No idea if she is still looking down on me, but I want her to be proud and I think she would be. My life is very different, but part of who I am is thanks to her.
As I sat there, talking to her I realised I had so much to say. I just needed to say them in case I forgot and they never got heard.
I remember crying – I did that a lot – and telling her I couldn’t do things without her. I was too scared. I kept turning to dry my eyes. I didn’t want her to see me crying.
It was so hot in there and the sun was coming through the window. Time stood still.
But like all the best things in life you left before it was finished.