I've always been slightly sorry that The Boy and I don't have any fantastic romantic story of how we met: it was at a party, in a Brighton nightclub, and involved too much tequila. Mind you, I'm consoled by the fact that while the acquisition may have been mundane, the resulting relationship has been wonderful and hardly a day goes by when I don't tell myself how lucky I am to be with someone so right for me (best not to examine too deeply what *he* gets out of the deal).
Anyway, the nightclub where we met is now for sale. I suppose that if we wanted to turn our workaday 'how we met' story into something more surprising, we could buy it. And live in it.
You know, if we had three quarters of a million pounds.