If 7 Years Is An Itch, Is 8 Years A Rash?

Alison and I have been together EIGHT YEARS. That's ages. It's more than a quarter of my life (just). Time flies when you're having fun.

For prosperity, despite the fact that half the people who read this know it all already, I have decided to relate The Story Of How We Met(TM). This is a canonical account with no retcons involved. And if there are any other comic book readers reading this, that last sentence will make sense to at least one person other than me.

Hull University. I had just about found my feet again after a very messy and unpleasant and on the whole difficult to get over break up with my previous girlfriend.

We met in the Resnikov Bar (formerly the John McCarthy Bar) at the Union. It was the last Friday of term, and of the Academic Year, in 1995 (and meanwhile, on the other side of the Universe, Anne was, I imagine, celebrating her 18th birthday). Alison was in the same block in halls as a friend of mine and his girlfriend. She was also very close friends with his girlfriend.

So yeah, they pretty much decided to play match-maker.

We got on really well. Another admirer of Alison's kept draping himself all over her and hugging and kissing her, either completely oblivious to the fact she wasn't interested, or just not caring. To Alison I was thus a shining beacon of chivalry and goodness, or at the very least, the best of a bad bunch.

Nothing happened that night. When they got a taxi back to halls, I got a goodbye hug, nothing more.

We've often discussed how things would've turned out if things had gone further that night. Neither of us are sure. I tend to think that if anything had happened that night it would've been more of a 'flash in the pan' kinda thing and nothing long term would've come of it. Alison isn't convinced. Who knows, it doesn't matter, because this is how things turned out...

We had no contact over the summer, although I did think about her a lot. I had a... how should I put it... a brief dalliance with another sweet young girl over the summer (This is the point where Sham would employ some kind of Bus Metaphor) but that was pretty much doomed before it even began and looking back I don't think my intentions and actions were quite so chivalrous where this other girl was concerned. Time and again I kept coming back to one thing. When things were getting me down that summer (memories of the break up, etc), the memory of Alison's smile got me through. Sickening, but true.

I was in Hull all summer because of my PhD. Towards the end of the summer, when most research students were bracing themselves for the sudden influx of postgrads, I was plotting. Well, that's not true. I wasn't so much plotting as trying to work out how best to play things with Alison if I got to see her again.

The week before term started I was in Durham on a team-building course organised by my Research Council. Despite being an incredibly stress-driven week, I found it immensely positive. There was also lots of drinking. Yes, back then I did still drink. First thing Saturday morning it was time to leave. Now, bearing in mind that I'd been out drinking every night there, and the past two nights had been in bed somewhere around 2am, I did well to make it back. I was exhausted, and not at all in a good condition to drive.

When I got back to Hull, I went straight to bed. When I felt more human, I wrang my mate and demanded that he arrange things so that I could meet Alison that night. The original plans fell flat on their arse, but the emergency back-up plan (which I agreed to after some persuasion - ok ok, which I agreed to at the drop of a hat) lead to a load of us ending up at a pub in Cottingham.

Alison and I ended up chatting until about 3am. I slept on her sofa. The next morning was the first smoochies. I went home for a bit, big fucking grin on my face, then went back to hers for dinner that evening. Didn't stay quite so late that time, but had a lot more fun ;-)

The Monday night I invited her for dinner and she stayed the night. Things also became kinda official.

And for the first two months, I'll be honest, I was terrified. The aforementioned previous breakup had made me aware of my capacity for hurt, both giving it and receiving it. I did not want to cause someone that sort of pain again, and thus was terrified of getting too involved with anyone. By Christmas I'd gotten over that.

So, there you are. There were lots of other things I was gonna mention in this entry, but I figure this tale should get the entry to itself. I might write another later if you're very lucky.