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Sheets of pale lightning, waves of rain, are driving in from the south. The sky has gone grey, the temperature has fallen sharply. Upstairs in my office, this seems like a good time to call it quits on a twelve-hour day, and head down to the lounge for a glass of wine and a chat with my beloved.

For we have things to talk about – six weeks in, on this journey called marriage, and we are still talking!

It is looking as though Rob may have a job lined up (she will no doubt say something about this herself, so I won’t say more), perhaps for a few months, maybe six. Our thoughts of a wedding reception in Detroit or Toronto, later this year; my plans to take some serious time out to write (that novel that will finally come to fruition on a porch in Marchmount Road), our considerations about family and friends on both sides of the water; my infant consulting business – and Rob’s need, practically speaking, to change her airticket back to Toronto, currently booked for 21 February – all need thoughtful and caring discussion, in the light of this very encouraging development.

So we will talk a bit, and cook our dinner, and in the morning, early, I will be back at my desk. There is a major report to write, and masses of stuff to digest and integrate.

But on the weekend, the two of us will be heading down to the little town of Clarens, near the Golden Gate nature reserve in the Free State, where we shall walk, talk, take photographs, and have our first married St Valentine’s Day together.

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