Two years ago today, a very cheeky chap took me to a tapas restaurant in Cambridge called The Bun Shop, inferred I looked like a prostitute, made me buy all my own drinks, talked about a subject he shouldn't have ever mentioned for about for 45 minutes, he chatted up a geordie girl at the bar while I sat waiting for him to come back, he made me walk in the pouring rain for an hour looking for a taxi and then asked me if he could come back to my hotel because his bed was lumpy.
It was the second worst date I had ever been on.
Two years later and we just got back from four days in Paris. Back to our house that we have been renovating, back to the duvet we claw at each other for, back to the dodgy blind I altered using glue and nail scissors and back to the toilet that doesn't flush.
Happy Anniversary Doofus, it really doesn't matter how much money we (don't) have, or whether the toilet flushes, or how ugly the hedge is, I wouldn't swap our life for anything.
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