From a first date in a playground to 40 years together. Photo / iStock
My husband's first words to me were: "Stop following me." I remember them quite clearly, although he doesn't. Something must have drawn me to him that day, and made me pursue him obviously enough for him to object.
The other thing I associate with that very first meeting with Ross is the strong smell of old tyre rubber. One whiff and I'm back there, to a sun-dappled playground where our planets collided.
I can still see his brown hair, blue eyes and even picture the stripes on his royal blue and black jumper, which I considered very smart indeed, and decided to follow him.
But what makes the clarity of these memories all the more unusual is that they are nearly 40 years old. Ross and I met in 1976, when we were aged four.
His family had just moved to the town, and I'd asked to become a member of the crew of his spaceship, made of old car tyres in the school playground.
First date - aged five
We flew into space to defend the galaxy, and were back in time for the afternoon bell.
As first dates go, it's quite a memorable one.
Ross and I have known each other our whole lives. I'm his first proper girlfriend, and he my first proper boyfriend. I struggle to remember a time when he wasn't there, somewhere in my life. When I tell people how we met, it's always a conversation opener.
"What you've never been with anyone else? What, ever?"
No we haven't, and what's more, we're back living in that same town where we met with our children, George, 11, Xander, seven, and six-year-old Alice.
Two attend a primary school just ten minutes from where their parents scuffed around as infants. They've cut their knees on the same pavements. Got the same grass stains on their socks. Some may call it unadventurous, I call it very lucky indeed.
First fight - aged five
When we reminisce, our stories are the same. Anything can set us off, and after a 39-year relationship, we have quite a trove of material to draw from.
Recently, as we were helping the children with their spelling we remembered what probably counts as our first argument.
We were in class, aged about five. Ross and I had a 'discussion' over the spelling of the word 'world'. I remember the yellow plastic woven mat on which we were standing when we had it. "It's w-o-r-d," he said, confidently.
"No, it isn't," I said, spelling the word out slowly, knowing I had this one in the bag.
The exchange went on for some time until finally the teacher overheard us and confirmed that I was, in fact, right. Little did I know that I'd be able to gently remind him of that early victory given the opportunity for years to come, much to his annoyance. Even today, we remain pedantically competitive over spelling.
He came to my fifth birthday party. As was the way back then, birthday parties were simple affairs. Games in the garden - musical statues, pass the parcel - followed by 'unstructured play' better known as kids running around the garden like lunatics after eating their bodyweight in party rings and ice cream.
It was sunny (wasn't it always back then?) and I wore my favourite dress, multi-coloured stripes with green ribbon around the hem.
He arrived with a book under his arm, clutching a Paddington Bear, and proceeded to sit under a tree at the far end of the garden, reading the book.
My mother asked him if he wanted to join in, but he said he was quite happy reading, thank you. To this day, she maintains the book was upside-down. He insists it wasn't.
My milestones throughout the Seventies all have Ross in them. There was the 1977 Silver Jubilee, when we shared a carnival float. We sat in toy vintage cars on the float and he wore a flat cap, while I was still in that beloved multi-coloured, striped dress.
By this time, we'd grown out of our spaceship. We were friends by way of school and our families, but not particularly interested in each other. He was, after all, a boy. I was all about my best friends and ponies.
Teenage crush
A few years later, I moved to another nearby town after my parents divorced and we didn't see very much of each other at all for a while.
But as we entered our teenage years, our paths began to cross again at the occasional local disco. Not that we spoke much, but I remember exactly how he looked.
He was, by then, tall with a floppy fringe and cheekbones you could cut cheese with. I thought he was arty and achingly cool. After a few awkward conversations here and there, a plan was hatched, when we were 15, for a group of us to go for pizza in town, at a restaurant where one of his friends was a waiter.
Together with my friend Claire, we spent hours getting ready, trying on each other's clothes, doing our (very long) hair and experimenting - badly - with some blue eyeliner.
When we arrived, Ross and his two friends were already at the table and the seat next to him was free.
But, for once, I was completely stuck for something to say.
I hovered awkwardly next to the table, and after what seemed like an age, he spoke first. "How was your tennis tournament?" he said, from below that fringe. I'd been playing for our school team that day - he'd obviously done his homework.
As it turned out, we'd lost but I couldn't have been happier. He asked me to take a seat next to him. And this time, he didn't even bring a book.
First kiss
A week later, we arranged to meet in the fields between our houses, and we went for a walk.
That was the scene of our first kiss. It was May 1988 and we've been together ever since.
Strangely, as we parted as 18-year-olds to university there was never any doubt that we would stay together, which I can see now was ambitious.
We saw each other at least once a month, either meeting back in our home town or as we travelled to visit each other.
We wrote an awful lot of letters, spoke on the phone pretty much every other day (no mean feat, given this was before the age of mobile phones) and always looked forward to that next visit.
It did mean that I was usually the one making tea for the broken-hearted late on a Saturday night after the student bar closed, but that was fine by me.
And at least the hangovers weren't as bad as they might have been.
After graduation, we moved to London - but not in together. Ross was sharing a flat with his brother, while I moved into a shared flat with a bunch of girlfriends, which was enormous fun.
We were insistent that, despite being an established couple for many years, we would live as most of our friends did. Looking back, it was a wise move, and one I am sure helped keep us together throughout these potentially hazardous years.
The proposal
I realise this sounds ridiculous, but Ross's proposal, aged 27, was completely out of the blue.
"Oh, you must have known!" most people say, but I'd never taken for granted that it would happen.
When he did pop the question, in a car park on the way to lunch with friends, he seemed as surprised as I was when the words came out of his mouth.
The lunch went by in a haze of happy tears and hastily bought champagne. I was supposed to be on a flight to Bordeaux that night (I worked as a supermarket wine buyer at the time), but delayed it until early the next morning so that we could celebrate with more friends and family that night.
The wedding itself was surprisingly easy to arrange, given that our two families lived in the same town and shared many of the same friends.
We were married about six months later. He'd have done it sooner but I insisted on having a few more months to find a dress and lose some weight.
It was held in a marquee next to the town cricket field and we decided to spend two-thirds of our budget on music and booze.
Moving in together
It was then - and only then - that we decided to live together. As husband and wife. We'd shared an entire life together, suddenly finding a whole raft of 'firsts' made married life a terrific adventure.
Our 'first' joint bread board, our first electricity bill - with our names at the top - they were worth waiting for.
And I guess it's only when people ask me how we met that, on learning we've known each other for pretty much all our lives and have been together since our teens, I'm reminded it's actually rather unusual.
And if I'm honest, slightly freakish; I'm always quick to let people know that we did, in fact, move away for more than a decade, when we lived in London. Otherwise it sounds like we just don't get out much!
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