What I did on the weekend

This weekend was my 11th wedding anniversary. We went to stay in the Sanderson Hotel for the night (the discovery of which I owe to Poggle).

P-at-the-Sanderson

I thought that, in honour of the occasion, I would tell you the story of our engagement. Very shortly after P and I began “stepping out together” (as no-one has put it since 1946), I decided she was the one for me. I enquired politely how long I might be expected to wait before asking for her hand. “Two years” she replied. For men that is a very significant period of time. I don’t think I am giving away too much here if I indicate that for a man “two years” is, for all practical purposes, equivalent to never. “Let’s give it two years before we move house/visit your mother/buy you a new car/have another baby” means “Let’s NEVER do those things”.

However, I waited and plotted. With two years to plan, things became ever more elaborate. I decided that I would propose on the second anniversary of our first kiss (18 August 1992) and booked the day out in my work diary. About a month before the date I was in court and we ran out of time before we finished the case.

Judge: We’ll need to come back Mr Moobs. 18 August seems ideal.

Moobs: Beggin’ your illustrious pardon but I have a prior engagement?

Judge: What?

Moobs: A personal matter.

Judge leans over the desk: That’s the most interesting, indeed the only interesting thing you’ve said all day Mr Moobs. Do tell

Moobs: Er … I was planning to propose to my girlfriend

Judge: Well Mr Moobs, we would not want to stand in the way of romance. Let’s just have half a day on the 18th.

That, unfortunately, scuppered my plan. However, a friend was getting married a few days after the second anniversary of the date we started “going out” (6 September 1992) so I had another thought.

I now needed to get the permission of the Venerable P père. I bought a new fountain pen, a new bottle of ink and a new package of linen paper and sat down to write. Having composed my note, I washed out the pen and put everything away in the drawer with a view to never using them again so that they would have had a single purpose: winning me P’s hand. 11 years on I used them again; to send P a love letter on our 10th anniversary.

Permission granted, I approached my friend and explained that I needed him to suborn his wedding to my plans to propose. Specifically I wanted his bride to be to ensure that Penny caught the bouquet. Then, leopard-like (ok, Koala-like) I would pounce. He was, God bless him, willing to help. I then booked a night for two in the swishest hotel I could find. As I am a miserable and infrequent driver, the plan depended on P driving us there so I had to make sure she was persuaded to drive to the wedding itself.

The night before the big day we were at the movies. P teased me, asking me when I planned to allow her to do me the honour of accepting my proposal. Being a whale-sized knobhead I saw an opportunity for some mischief. In order to “throw her off the scent” I replied curtly that I wished she would let the subject drop as I didn’t appreciate the pressure. P went quiet and stared ahead. Inside my head I chuckled at my masterly grasp of psychology. Inside her head, I later learned, she was wondering whether she should ditch me there and then or give me one last chance.

The next day I sat through the ceremony, right leg jiggling to the beat of an inaudible and manically fast drum. As I  vibrated the pew with my muscular spasm it occurred to me that there was a problem with my plan: I had no idea at what point the bride threw the bouquet. The first moment this might happen, I reasoned, was when the newlyweds climbed into the Roller for the short drive to the reception. As they made their way to the vehicle, P spotted a friend and drifted off. Terrified I would miss my chance I dragged her back to the kerbside by the arm insisting that we see the bride and groom off. I then stood, nose to car window waggling my eyebrows expressively as my friend spent the first few moments of his married life wondering what the heck I was doing.

At the reception I was all nerves. I slipped away for a pint and confessed to some friends what was up. I asked them not to tell anyone. One person they certainly did not tell was Sarah, one of P’s friends.

P: I’ve told Sarah I will give her a lift back to London when the do is over.

M: Er … ok

I waited until P and Sarah had caught up and then bundled Sarah away and explained that if she climbed into the car she was most likely going to be spending the evening sleeping in the bath of a grand hotel. Having explained it all, I asked her not tell anyone. She promised.

As the last dreadful stutterings of the Disco died out the married couple announced they were leaving and that the bouquet would now be thrown. This was a sensible move and had the desired result: I stopped stalking them about the reception dragging a bemused P beside me just in case they decided to deal with the whole matter spontaneously.

As they climbed into their getaway car, I pushed an pulled P until she had a clear space around her. The Bride made sure where P was, turned her back and tossed the bouquet over her head like an East German throwing the Hammer. The flowers smacked P on the forehead and bounced into her arms.

P looked embarrassed, no doubt recollecting our conversation of the previous night.

M: Looks like the subject just won’t go away

P: Guess not

M: Let’s go for a walk.

I took her into the gardens and said:

“P, will you marry me”. I produced the ring I had bought.

“Are you serious?”

I had played the scenario out many times in my head preparing myself, I had thought, for every eventuality. This was not an answer I had factored in. I stood, frozen, ring held in my outstretched hand.

M: Does the diamond ring not sort of give it away?

P: I will marry you.

We hugged each other and over her shoulder I could see all the guests who my friends had promised not to tell jumping about and waving their arms at the hotel window.

I told P about the swish hotel I had booked elsewhere and suggested we head straight there. P was in a kind of shock and so, once underway, we drove through the early autumn Sussex lanes at a steady 18 miles an hour, bound for Cuckfield and thence to matrimony.

36 thoughts on “What I did on the weekend”

  1. Ahh, that was a great story and happy belated anniversary! We’ll be celebrating our 9th year coming up and after six years of having our first child, we are finally going away!!! Yup, I’m one of those Mommies who can’t leave their kids overnight…for six years!!!

    Although my hubbie already started planning as soon as I gave the go ahead for a mini getaway. It’s a surprise, so I have no idea where we’re going.

  2. Wow, you are romantic.

    The Breakdancer was also quite romantic when he proposed. I had been hassling him for about 18 months to propose – in fact I started about a week after I met him. But the proposal still came as a bit of a surprise.

    He took me away for the weekend to Whitstable, where we stayed in a very nice room in the nicest hotel. It had a balcony overlooking the beach. We’d just had our dinner and I went out to look at the sea. I went back in again quite quickly because it was cold. The Breakdancer told me to go back out again. I refused. So he just asked me to marry him standing up in our hotel room. I made him go down on one knee and do it again. He did. I accepted. We were so excited we didn’t really sleep that night. We just left the doors to the balcony open and listened to the sea and talked. It was grand.

  3. Gamba – that is very romantic. there is something of a pattern emerging of St George’s girls demanding that it be done right. A friend of P’s (and another ST G girl) said she would only say yes if her man jumped into the river they were walking beside in Edinburgh. He duly jumped and wound up with a chest infection (and a fiancee)

  4. I think the St George’s education ingrains the notion that MOST things have to be done PROPERLY.

    I laughed out loud when I read about the jumping in the river thing. I don’t know whether the Breakdancer would have jumped into the river for me. Now I will never know if he loves me that much!

  5. Pog, We had a great time. I think turning up in my tweed jacket nearly caused the gorgeous black tank-topped he-bots at reception to have an aneurism. The bar was such a cattle market they might just as well have been mooing but the restaurant was fantastic, the spa tremendous and the bed about the most comfortable I’ve slept in since my last stay in a W Hotel in the States.

  6. Truth? Hubby proposed naked on one knee the day of the big rival game (Ohio State – me, versus University of Michigan – him) Now I ask you. Does it get any more romantic than that? *rolls eyes, laughing*

    You got him beat hands down.

  7. Christina, that he had his mind on love when there was top sporting action to be had is about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard a man do.

  8. I am sporting tears in my eyes!!!!!!
    That was a wonderful story…totally and completely romantic. She is one lucky gal and you are one lucky guy (for all that planning to go off sooo well)
    My proposal wasn’t sooo romantic…but our dating story was.
    We met whilst playing together on a co-ed university baseball team…
    He played first base…and I played second base.
    I knew I could fall in love with him when he was the first one to come running over as I jammed up my finger after catching quite a fast ball and he said “Just look up at me” as he yanked my finger to pull out the jam. Birds and butterflies flew around my head.
    Ok..so maybe that was me almost passing out…but soon after we went for a couple of pints and love ensued…

  9. You are the most wonderful english man I have never met.

    I now cannot possibly believe that either of you are real…because you are too cool.

    Sigh….

    That story made me all girly.

  10. Here’s my story.

    I was a single mother of 15 month old twin girls living in a small beautiful valley in NW Washington State (1 hour N of Seattle), making me both highly unlikely to meet anyone who didn’t have a shotgun rack *and* quite attractive to the 3 hip single men in the area. One evening my Mom insisted I get out of the house and have a night off so I made my way like a scared little kitten to the cool local pub on my own. That night I met Brian, a relocated telecommuting Seattle-ite (one of the 3 hip men) who was looking for a nice girl with whom to settle down. Since he was looking for someone in her 20s, never married, and no kids, I didn’t exactly fit the bill. Luckily, he had an as yet undiscovered taste for cynical but lovable funny redheads with millions of children and attitude to boot. We fell madly in love. He proposed on a weekend getaway to beautiful Vancouver, BC. We stayed at this fabulous hotel (there’s a theme here) and in the midst of a wrestle / tussle/ giggle attack, he looked at me and said “Hey!” and I said “yah?”…. “Will you marry me, funny girl?” and I screamed “yeeeessss!” It was so romantic and fun and light. And will always be one of my favorite memories…

  11. Your wife is stunning! I thought it she was the model for the hotel!

    When I opened the door to my condo at the end of work one evening, there were rose petals laying in a path up the stairs and to the bedroom. When I opened the door to the bedroom there was a note that said, Do Not Be Afraid. Marvin Gaye was playing. I followed the roses to the bathroom where there was a bath drawn and candles lit. No one else was there. I got in the bath and poured the wine nearby and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally he appeared with a ring and a question. It was nice but not so grand as your story Moobs.

  12. That has to be one of the most romantic proposal stories I have every heard! Oh…oh…I’m all a twitter now! And your bride is just stunningly beautiful!

    My goodness, Mr. Moobs, I think you’ve outdone even my favorite Hugh Grant movie.

    Congratulations and Happy Anniversary!

  13. No romantic proposal stories to add… although Allan had a star named after me for our first year anniversary, which I thought wasn’t too shabby of a gift.

    This one would be hard to beat, anyway. Penny is a lucky woman, Moobs. Who also happens to be quite beautiful! GORGEOUS dimples!!

  14. I’ve never really gone in for a lot of romance. I guess its because I tend to cry when people are overly lovely to me, and I’m not entirely sure why. Gets a bit embarrassing, really! I didn’t get a proper proposal when I got married – just a mutual agreement, and I bought my own engagement and wedding rings – so, to be honest, it was probably a good indication of things to come, having left home after just 3 and a half years, and getting divorced.

    I would be utterly thrilled to have had the kind of proposal that you bestowed upon the lovely P, though – it shows such thought and care, and putting yourself out…….. all those things you need to demonstrate if you’re going to be a good soul-mate. Ahhhh… xx

  15. Moobs, that is truly fantastics, what a star way to propose! A proposal like that has to make for the most fab of marriages, well done.

  16. Moobs, whata sentimental,romantic love story… You almost have me believe that you are an incurable romantic…
    That you are kind, sweet and humble…
    Your wife is gorgeous!!!! What a wonderful shot!!!!
    Hope you two love bird had a wonderful, romantic anniversary…

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