Nicolas

He will go silent while thinking.
It's best that Mu or I cook in the evening or we wouldn't eat before midnight.
He won't walk everyday but will clock up 15km once in a while in an afternoon.
He won't drink orange juice after his café crème.
He walks up mountains slowly and I know his footsteps are right so I step in them
He takes me home to England via the Rolling Stones, The Who and The Clash and teaches me to listen to the music and not just the words
His breakfast is a bowl of milky tea in which he floats butter biscuit boats with a crew of concentrated milk sailors who he saves with a spoon just before they sink.
He talks about having a shower and has one that takes three minutes three hours later.
He can play every instrument except the trombone but can fart with an upward intonation, like a trumpet.
He plays three rounds of spider solitaire every morning, always finishing with a pack of hearts, to see if the day will help him do what he has to do.
His shopping list is grated cheese, fresh cream, rum and coke.
He walks and dances like an African.
He'll tempt 200 on the motorway.
He'll dress up as a nurse to look after my Da and won't give a toss.
For all the above, I married him.