How can you congratulate someone when they haven’t actually done anything, other than put a ring on their finger and start organising a big event? When people congratulate me, I feel like I’m pulling some big case of fraud and somehow feel guilty that they’re making this big deal out of something that seems so trivial to me. And then people keep complaining about not being told about it, but getting engaged was never meant to be such a big deal. It’s weird, because a part of me thought that by getting engaged would stop the “oh when are you getting married” malarkey, but now those same people seem to be obsessed with dictating our wedding – where we should get married, what dress I should wear. I have most of what I want out of life, and I am planning for my wedding – a day that I never expected to see, which seems crazy when you’ve been in a long-term relationship for eight years, but marriage didn’t feel right for us until earlier in the year. I’m fortunate enough to be at a stage in my life, when I genuinely feel happy. The screaming and the laughter was so nice to watch, and yet so saddening, because those years are now so far behind me, and there was that brief realisation that those girls were half my age, and that made me feel incredibly old. On the walk along the seafront, to have dinner, I came across a group of teenage girls – they were probably 13 or 14 – and I marvelled at the innocence and the happiness, as they skateboarded across the seafront, and ran across the sand towards the sea (which inevitably was really far out). Yet again I find myself feeling jealousy towards the kids who get to appreciate summer in all of the ways I wish that I still could – with absolute freedom.Ī couple of weeks ago, I went to see Transformers: Age of Extinction at my local cinema, which just happens to be close to the seaside.
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