I had just moved – with a partner who proved to be violent after a while – and made several new friends in the local pub. The local pub was very local a diagonal crossing of the road. Among the friends was the never-married Mr absent in his forties who apparently decided instantly that I was the woman he was going to marry in spite of the fact that I already had a partner (to whom I wasn't married), wore very tatty jeans and my hair looked like a rat's nest. I met up with these friends, including Mr absent, quite frequently in spite of the fact that violent partner gave them all instructions not to speak to me, not to make me laugh, not to offer me a drink, not to accept a drink from me and accused every man – and boy– in the neighbourhood of sleeping with me (completely untrue).
Eventually I threw violent partner out of my house (it was my house not joint ownership) and carried on seeing friends. Some considerable time later Mr absent proposed. I was shocked and having divorced my first husband, had no intention of remarrying. I hope my refusal was gentle, but whether it was or not, he persisted. I don't mean he kept asking; he was just around and being kind and helpful. After two years he asked again and I said yes.
We were married on 1 April 14 years ago as, somehow, it seemed very appropriate, and we had a huge reception in the same local pub. It is also the local football team's supporters club and shortly before our wedding, a match was rescheduled for that day. We had one bar, they had the other and towards the end of the evening we put some of our dishes of food out for them and it was all great fun.
The most ironic thing is that in the 1970s we lived in the same street on opposite sides, shopped in the same corner shops, went to some of the same pubs, but never met.