2 year anniversary

2 years ago on Monday Ka and myself were married.
Since we were both working on the day we went out for dinner, into Glasgow, on the Saturday night and had our own romantic meal for 2 in the flat on the Sunday, declining an invitation to one of Mum and Dad’s BBQ’s, successfully earning a guilt trip.
On Saturday evening we sat on the balcony of the Metropolitan, overlooking the Merchant City Square watching the various goings on below us which included the customers of the Metropolitan bar underneath, relaxing on the couches, chatting away with their friends over drinks, their echoing background noise of chatter circling up around the high roof and walls of the Merchant Square around us. The other bars within the square moved with the usual Saturday night life, O’Neills, Bar Square, the Beer Café, Arisaig along with the Spanish bar and restaurant, Mercados.
Mercados, I don’t have particularly fond memories of as the last time we were there, we ate from their tapas menu and I managed to pick up a bad case of diarrhea, suffering for at least five days afterwards with dodgy bowel movements. I’m pretty sure to this day it was the Mussels. In fact I don’t eat mussels to this day as everytime I even catch a sniff of the scent of a mussel my stomach starts gurgling strangely. I’ve hesitantly ate mussels once since that fateful Mercados night and that was in Mum and Dads, the night before Kenny departed for Australia and I could barely move for at least three hours afterwards. Difficult, especially when you’re playing charades. Jumping around the living room floor, acting out various film and song titles, sweating with the effort of trying to control your stomach movements does not make for an enjoyable night. In fact, not only have I neglected mussels since, I’ve also stayed clear of charades.
Anyway, the meal in Metropolitan was fantastic. Mackerel for Ka and haggis for my starters.
Haggis was not my first choice. In fact, like mussels, I’ve tried to stay clear of haggis too, after a rather unfortunate hangover following a sleepover in Colin and Jillian’s house. I don’t think I could actually bring myself to drive home the next day until around six o’clock in the evening and that was only because I couldn’t bear sitting watching American Pop Idol for any longer with Colin in his boxers opposite me. Earlier I’d spent more than a few hours in the early afternoon, sitting on the toilet bowl in Colin and Jillian’s bathroom, underneath the John Barrowman calender. It was more than a little disturbing to find, on looking around, mid grimace, from just over my shoulder, John Barrowman grinning down at me.
He’s back again. Once again, he’s all over the tv as, not only is Torchwood coming back with a big, glossy, American style makeover but his highly cheese infested, ‘Surprise surprise’ style, all singing, all dancing, teatime Saturday night tv show is back. Ka informed me that Claire almost had us sitting in the live studio audience as the first show was being recorded in BBC Scotland on Sunday night and Claire’s Mum was asked if she had been interested in tickets. Needless to say, Claire’s Mum probably scoffed at the offer, insulted that someone would offer her such a gift, oblivious to the fact Barrowman has a whole Appreciation Society so close at hand.
Last night in the gym, I was on the treadmill minding my own business, eyes watching the large plasmas perched on the wall at the end of the room as I toiled away in a vague effort to keep fit. Seven o’clock hit and The One Show started and who was on the couch? None other than John Barrowman. Unfortunately Ka missed it as she was in the middle of a awkward yoga position, alongside Pauline, in one of the studios but she did promise herself to watch it on replay later.
Main course… what was our main course? Oh, yes a Vegetable roulade type thing for Ka and a Rump of lamb with sage and smoked bacon, Boulangere potato, haricot vert and spring onions drizzled with a sun-dried tomato vinaigrette for myself. No complaints there, except from the fact I have no idea what a ‘Boulangere’ potato is. Some kind of French potato I presume. Doubt it was French. They probably just give it a French sounding name so they can justify the French prices. It probably wouldn’t cost as much if it was down on the menu as Lamb with peas, tatties and gravy.
Talking of prices Ka made a mistake when we were being seated at our table on the balcony.
“Would you like some water with your meal?” the waiter asked.
“Yes, that would be lovely, thanks” Ka replied, as I sat myself down not even getting a chance to shake my head urgently in her direction.
“What did you do that for?!” I stressed, attempting a lower level of stress, keeping the occasion in mind.
“It’s my anniversary!” Ka shushed me, with a disregarding wave of the hands.
“Exactly, so why are we ordering water?!” I was once again shushed.
A fiver for a bottle of water. I huffed upon seeing the bill, shaking my head sternly at the price of Strathmore. Okay, it was Strathmore, a name in the field of water production, if there is such a field, and it had a fancy engraving of Glamis castle in the glass bottle - but a fiver? You can’t even keep the bottle, no matter how many fancy engravings it may have over it. I’m sure you could if you really wanted to but it would look rather odd striding around Glasgow town with an empty glass bottle of Strathmore.
After paying a fiver for water it was just as well we didn’t have any dessert.
We did have cocktails instead though, which interestingly only cost a pound more than a bottle of water, and they came with at least three different drinks the glass, not to mention the fact they tasted a hell of a lot more exciting.
Afterwards we headed over to Frankensteins on West George Street which was celebrating it’s last night before closing it’s doors for the final time. Frankensteins had turned into a bit of a tradition for Ka and myself in only the past few months. No, not for it’s fantastic hen dos, and not even for Frankenstein himself, who descended down over the drinkers on a automated pulley when the clock struck midnight and confused more than a few drunken women in L-plates and feather boas. No it was for it’s bar meals. A few months back we discovered it served some pretty good pub grub in the afternoons. Unfortunately there will be no more Macaroni Cheese for Ka before the cinema on a quiet Saturday afternoon now.
On Sunday afternoon we went to the cinema, armed with lots of sugary drinks to fight the alcohol still in our system. We seen the excellent ‘Bridesmaids’ a surprisingly good flick and a hell of a lot better than the last movie we seen, “The Hangover Part 2” which was just a majorly disappointing retread of the first movie.
2 years of wedded bliss. It’s been 2 years already. Unbelievable. If you ask her, of course, she’ll claim it seems longer whereas I reckon it’s been a fast 2 years. A 2 years which included moments which the two of us would not have believed would ever happen. A rollercoaster of emotions.
It’s just as well we didn’t go to Strathclyde Park on Sunday night as it would have literally been a rollercoaster of emotions. A whole group of rollercoasting thrill seekers were stuck on one of the taller twists of metal in M&D’s biggest rollercoaster. Hanging there until the fire brigade eventually pulled the last person from it’s train at around quarter to one in the morning. What a fun night that would have been. I wonder what they done to keep themselves occupied? A game of charades perhaps?