I love my fiancé very much. Hey, I might even marry him one day...
But sometimes, despite his massive intelligence, he does come out with things.
On holiday, we took an evening stroll along the beach in a southerly direction. The wind had whipped up a bit and was coming from the north. Being us, we paused to light a cigarette. Being windy it was slightly more difficult than normal. So Jimmy said,
"It's not so bad walking in this direction but we won't be able to light one when we walk back..."
Yesterday, we were watching Songs of Praise (desperate times call for desperate measures...). It was a Special in anticipation of St Patrick's Day. Although hosted by Eamonn Holmes on top of Croagh Patrick, much of the music came from various cathedrals in Belfast. Jimmy commented on the colouring of many of the youngsters - typically sandy hair, often with freckles, adding that if it were from the South they would look different - dark hair...
"Like me!" I said (I've often been presumed to be Irish)
"You have a reddish tinge to your hair," he said, in all seriousness.
"That's chemical!" I exclaimed.
"No, the Irish will always out eventually," he declared.
I never say anything stupid.
