This afternoon, the Sage was going to visit our dear friends Arthur and Avery. To my pleased surprise, he suggested I come along. Togetherness isn't quite the Z and Sage way. I had a brilliant time - the Sage was sorting out his ID at the bank for a while, so left us - Arthur had never quite appreciated that he had been the witness of the Sage and I first getting together ... can't remember if I've ever told that tale, but if not I'll come back to it ... but we had a very entertaining reminisce - and this carried on once the Sage returned. Then he produced a huge carrier bag containing three of the four pictures he bought at Bonhams on Thursday. I had asked to see them, but he said he had taken the main one to the restorer, and fobbed me off. I understood this afternoon why he had asked me. He wanted to unwrap them in front of other people. He had bought two watercolours and a charcoal drawing on a whim, unseen, and funked discussing it with me one to one. I have no idea why, I wouldn't have grumbled, except to ask where they were to be hung. I don't know why he wouldn't show me the oil painting before restoration, or maybe just cleaning, either. I've seen enough paintings to appreciate potential.
If I'm sounding a bit miffed, well I am. Not that he bought them, although why he has this compulsion is beyond me, nor that he's secretive, because I'm well used to that. It's just because it rather detracted from a lovely afternoon with some of our oldest friends.
In talking to A and A about that first meeting, I realised something that I'd managed to forget. In May, we will have been married for 39 years. I'd succeeding (whilst knowing last May that it was 38) to leave out a year, and tell people that this was the 38th. I suddenly feel terribly, terribly old.
Tonight, the Sage kindly cooked dinner. I'm now sitting by the fire, bathed, pyjamaed and dressing-gowned. Quite relaxed, but feeling terribly, terribly old.