Ten years ago today, in a London week that saw friends married, a clerical funeral, an emergency noctural visit to hospital, a shamefully late lunch rendezvous, and me turning down an ill-considered proposal to commentate on the papal installation Mass, I met up with someone I’d only known through Twitter at the recommendation of a mutual friend. It would be good, he said, if his two historian friends who were in London could meet each other.
And so we met for coffee in a bookshop, and talked of cheesehats and sports and history and books and faith and friends, and had a great morning. And then we went our separate ways, she to complete her doctorate like a proper person, and me to try my vocation as a Dominican friar.
Time passed.
Reader, I married her.
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