Popping Fifty Corks

One of my daughters recalled the other day a practical if goofy reason why, on the eve of her wedding nearly twenty years ago, she developed a minor misgiving: “What will we talk about?” She figured she had about two days worth of conversation in store. The third and subsequent days of her marriage had potential to drag.

Having no experience of marriage, she was unaware of the invaluable part silence, companionable or smouldering, plays in keeping this mysterious institution vibrant and eventful. Nor did she have any inkling of the dimensions and splendour of the mission undertaken when you accept the invitation to enter the inner being of another person, with blanket permission to look around, and you, for your part, extend reciprocal privileges.

I have fallen into this rather patronising tone (sorry, Ros) because of the hubris that has had me in its grip since I celebrated my fiftieth wedding anniversary last month. I had intended to lease a luxury yacht for the festivities,…