From 11 to 12

I've just seen some of the shots of the memorial ceremonies for 9/11, and it still numbs me when I actually stop and think about what happened. I was in England at the time, preparing for my wedding to the future mrs. anglosaxy, and I remember we had a big fight that same lunchtime, about what I really don't remember. What I do remember is how that fight paled into insignificance as we watched live pictures on the BBC (quite why the TV was on at this time - let's face it, what is there to watch on the BBC in the middle of the day? - also pales into nothingness). Our shock and horror brought us back into line as we sat perched on my parents' sofa, watching in terror as the events unfolded before us...

OK, that's enough of that...you might be pleased to know that mrs. anglosaxy is safely tucked up in bed after downing 3 ouzos, a 'Campari Mix' and a small vodka and coke. I blame her father, terrible influence. Why she has to insist on doing her version of Madonna's 'Like a Prayer' whenever she's had a couple, I'll never know. Small mercies, I guess - if it had been that poppy Romanian tune all over the radio recently, I would have been reaching for the ouzo bottle myself...