Hello Thirty

Samantha reminded me the other day (not that I needed reminding, of course I was remembering) that it's been thirty years since we started 'goin' oot thegither'. That tipping over into the third decade bit caught me on the hop - ooft. Back in that first week of March '84 Nena was jigging about and flashing her hairy oxsters* and singing about '99 red balloons' on Top of the Pops, but it was the next number one that became our wee tune; a song about global nuclear annihilation during the last Cold War didn't quite cut it in the teenage romance stakes for some reason.

Anyway, enough of that soppy nonsense, me and the burd headed out for a wander along the sheep shit covered tracks around the abandoned World War I/II munitions warehouses over the other side of the Forth (actually, that '99 Red Balloons' might be quite fitting after all) for a bit of fresh air this afternoon. Spotted a fox lurking around near this tree but it'd ducked for cover by the time we got close. Samantha's trying to spot any movement in the grass and not auditioning for a part in 'The Women Who Stare at Trees' here.

Thirty though. Ooft.

* Armpits