The Sliding Doors Moment

The cup of tea in the image above is the Marrakech Mint at China House, Georgetown, Penang.

It was terrible, but that doesn’t matter. In fact, apart from a revisit to the Tea Blog experience of a couple of days ago (honey and black pearl red tea this time) I didn’t get any good tea on this day, apart from one I made myself . Oh, and more Teh Tarik at breakfast.

Come to think of it… no, I am going off on a tangent here, and despite the fact that that is my blog’s most marked characteristic, I’m not going to do that. I’ll focus.

The key here is the date, which I helpfully wrote on the tablecloth in crayon.

Being June 6th, it has the advantage of being the same in both standard and American date formats, so there’s no confusion, It is also the anniversary of D-Day in 1946, and so is often remembered as an important day in history.

More pertinently, June 6th is one of those rare days that I can tell you what I was doing on in 1984.

Apart from being the subject of one of the best books ever, 1984 started as a bit of a lost year for me. My career as an international recording artist was still being hampered by my lack of any discernible musical talent, I had no job, I had finished study and for some reason I had taken to wearing a faux leather jacket with “Air France” and “Concorde” badges sewn on, which just made French people try to talk to me in the street. I also had the world’s straggliest beard.

I don’t remember much about myself then, but I was definitely not the sort of person to invite a girl I had just met for coffee and a chat. Strangely, I did that on June 6th, 1984.

And the girl? Feisty, talented and definitely not inclined to accept coffee invitations from self-important beardy loudmouths. Strangely, she did that on June 6th, 1984,

I know I’ve told this story before, but there you have it.

Coffee, a discussion of shared interests, an agreement to get together for a jam session as her band had no bass player. Love blossomed for me over that checked tablecloth there and then; she may have taken  little convincing, and rightly so.

Fast forward thirty two years, two fine children and an incredible shared history, and we find ourselves once sharing a beverage. And cake. The picture above is my cake.

Let’s not dwell on the cappuccino of 32 years past; I know better now. There’s a future to be had, and a thirtieth wedding anniversary to celebrate on June 7th.

I no longer have the beard. The love has proven much longer lasting.

Over the thirty-two years, one running joke has been that she will always select a far better item on a menu that I will. And Anne, AKA Lady Devotea went with a pineapple mint iced tea.

My decision to order the Marrakech Mint was bad, but I have thirty-two years worth of proof that I once made a very good decision to by asking the right person for a chat and a beverage.

As much as I love Orwell’s 1984, I look back on my own 1984 as better: the start of a new life, and one that continues to this day. And the day that has just dawned is our thirtieth wedding anniversary, so I’d best go make the tea.