Big but blank evening

VR and I have been married for a “round” period of years. You’d think I’d remember our first encounter in London since I’d only recently escaped the sexual prison that was the North of England. But with one exception (which I’ll get to) the evening is a blank.

I know we formed a foursome, the other male being my flatmate. VR tells me we went to The Doves, a pub in Hammersmith, west London. But what did we talk about? Did we kiss? I have no idea. At the time VR (then VT) was an SRN (state registered nurse) at Charing Cross Hospital, about 200 yards from the absolute centre of London. Since my conversation – for better or for worse – is to ask questions I’m sure I would have interrogated her about her job. But I recall nothing.

What’s remarkable is that somehow I managed to stumble through those early weeks and we stayed together. I was 25 and my only experience of womanly company consisted of three visits to the cinema with a West Riding girl who grew increasingly puzzled by my flamboyant talk. It was she who suggested we brought this monologue to an end.

VR and I did have one crisis – conveyed by written note – but I don’t think I took it seriously. I conclude this was an expert reaction and yet didn’t realise this at the time.

Here’s the remembrance. My flatmate had use of a van.  VR and I sat on the wooden floor in the back as he drove VR back to her flat. I needed her telephone number but had neither pen nor paper, a shocking admission for a journalist. With an old-fashioned penny piece I scratched the seven-figure number on the van’s interior. Perhaps it’s still there.