Twenty-seven years

It's our wedding anniversary today.

We got married in the backyard of David's old family rancho in Dalkeith.

David was working with rock bands and some of his roadie mates descended on the garden and wired up the jacaranda with pink spotlights which were really flattering!

It rained — which my Latvian best friend Dace said meant good luck.

And it has been.

We've known each other 38 years.

David set the date of our wedding, which is the day before his birthday, so he would never forget it, but we have rarely celebrated our anniversary with more than the odd card.

The big one was our 25th, our silver, which we celebrated with a 10-day trip to Washington DC and New York. On the day, there was real, actual, bling which took my breath away, and a big bouquet (that's it above), and a wonderful, wonderful dinner with best friends in a chic little Italian restaurant. Dreamy.

We've had so much fun in our 38 years. Had two kids of our own and raised three, seen them grow up and spread their wings. We lived in the same rambly old house for almost quarter of a century, went around the world a few times, made a fortune and lost it — but most importantly, we have loved and been loved by a whole host of incredibly dear friends. And, sadly, we've said goodbye to some of them way too soon.

I'm looking forward to the next few decades!