BLISS

BLISS

Whereas I nicked (and failed to credit) Churchill on Russia (an enigma in a riddle...etc.) to describe DLL, I'll go original on BLISS:

She's a conundrum. Actually, a set of conundrums. A Russian doll set of conundrum within conundrum. Just as DLL would deny her complexities, or at least claim to be unaware of them, I'm sure that BLISS is a wilful set of conundrums, whether through wanting to keep the world in general on its toes, whether it's just to baffle me in particular (I doubt I'm that important), or whether it's that little bit of irresistible devilment, she's gloriously abrim with surprises and unexpected actions, words, deeds, and responses.

I can't claim any sort of objectivity. We've been married for twenty five years, together for longer than that. She claims I'm entirely predictable. I'd say she's like a blaze in a firework factory. She's a force of nature. She seems to have her own personal laws of time, space, physics. She defies all and any classification or pigeon-holing.

She's not been involved in formal, organised sport, but she has a good eye and good co-ordination. Unfortunately, she isn't particularly interested in manoeuvring an opponent out of position in a court, or in the subtleties or nuances of any game she plays. No, BLISS prefers larruping the bejesus out of whatever it is she can hit with the racquet. She was brilliant at badminton, because, no matter how hard you hit a shuttlecock, it tends to stay within bounds. Smashing a tennis ball miles out of court, crashing it into the chainlink fence, she was just happy at making such sweet contact with the ball, propelling it with massive force. Then she swigged the orange from our shared carton, including the wasp. She'd be the ideal T20 cricketer, happy to send the ball miles into the car park / road / river, and if she missed and was out, then, hey, what the hell. No fear. She'd be a nightmare golfer: fine smashing the ball a long way, thoroughly confused and inconvenienced by that fiddlesome bit at the end. Wonderfully unconcerned with the finer details, straight to the point.

I can recognise footstep patterns and weight of tread. Up to a point. I can tell you, blindfold, whether it's MM, Kiz, or either of BLISS or DLL wandering about. The two lightweights are the most heavy of foot. There's no future in the SAS for BLISS, where you need to disappear, watch and report, becoming invisible. “That's BLISS emptying the dishwasher” we say. From the next room. The neighbours are probably saying the same thing. The neighbouring village is probably...and so on.

Despite the natural noisiness, and while she couldn't ever sneak up on anyone, she's got a 100% record in catching me off guard. She's a reincarnated ninja warrior. Whenever I'm ready for her jumping out from behind a door, she isn't there. Whenever I'm miles away, she jumps out and shouts “boo” and makes me do all manner of shockingly embarrassing jumping out of my skin. It's an uncanny skill. She could market it.

She's tiny and slight and weighs next to nothing, but can out-eat the average sumo wrestler on a hungry, build up the fighting weight, high appetite day.

She makes me laugh more than anyone else, ever. Most of the time by design. Sometimes by accident. See last Christmas, when she was the last one standing, because she had everyone else rolling on the floor laughing.

She loves animals, nature and wildlife. She works as a volunteer at weekends at a wildlife hospital, tending to various birds and small mammals. That's commitment, that's love. It's beautiful seeing her love for the dogs, for all living creatures, and her tree huggerism.

We are, I hope, the best of friends. We're Six Feet Under buddies, Sopranos mates, and I've just remembered our all-night sittings when she fell in love with Generation Kill, which I never thought she'd enjoy, and, typically, therefore, she fell in love with. She claims not to have a great interest in music, and then you walk in to find her YouTube-ing live Frank Zappa. The Decemberists' January Hymn is her morning alarm song.

Over those twenty five or twenty seven or so years, I've fallen in love with her, all over again, hopelessly, head over heels, on about a weekly basis.

She's an irresistible attraction, in these parts, which she'll question (if not necessarily deny) and which I'll attest to. There's nothing like her. Nothing on earth.