B is for Budleigh Salterton

B

Last month, I got a blogging award which asked for seven random facts as part of the deal.  The first factoid noted that I met my husband in Budleigh Salterton.  It is a place near and dear to my heart as a result. 

View of Budleigh, not including the vital Feathers pub

What, you may ask, was I doing in a sleepy Devon town?  Apart from the joke name and Noel Coward's rather scathing view of it as a honeymoon resort (see Blithe Spirit  for details), Budleigh Salterton has long been host to Imperial College's Operatic Society.  They descend on it a couple of times a year to take over the village hall and perform shows there.

I am no singer, but I can be a serviceable chorus member if I have to, and that year I was a fairy in Iolanthe.  A stationary fairy, as it happened, as I'd managed to trip over my fairy wand at a late rehearsal and torn a ligament.  Prancing being out of the question, I was adorned in ankle to knee tubigrip and spent most of the show perched on a toadstool.  Accident prone, y'see.

This accident proneness was a continuing theme.  As part of the opening night festivities, cast entertained the audience and local dignitaries with a finger buffet.  As an avid cook, I volunteered to help and constructed a vasty batch of sausage rolls.  Which then had to be delivered to the hall.  Which is when I limped out of the kitchen clutching a tray full of them and walked straight into an open window frame.  Window frame was made of metal and gouged a neat cut in my scalp.  Blood started to cascade.

At this point, an unknown hero in sunglasses put in an appearance, firmly removing the sausage rolls from me.  I was suitably grateful.  Didn't want to waste the sausage rolls after all.  After being swabbed down, I realised who he was.  Not unknown as it turned out.  A flautist in the band.  We had met briefly the previous evening and he had impressed me with his look of utter disdain as I limped to and fro.

Anyway, I set out to find him and thank him for his help.  This lead to some interesting conversation.  I expounded on fresco techniques.  He was fascinating about music and science fiction and generally made me laugh a lot.  We got on astonishingly well for two intensely shy people. 

We established that I failed to qualify as his dream woman on many important issues.  I can't eat fish, I smoke and I don't play a musical instrument.  He failed to fulfil my requirements in a partner by being employed, not undergoing long term treatment for mental illness and not needing me to change his life.  Obvious soulmates.

One week later he proposed.  It was a drunken moment, but we both had a sort of "actually, that's a damn fine idea" twang about it.  A month later, he proposed again and by the time the next Budleigh Salterton rolled around, we were married and have been ever since.

On an unrelated note, I've been getting notifications for comments that aren't appearing on the blog.  If you've posted something and I haven't replied, it's because I can't.  Not sure if this is anything to do with the vaunted new blogger interface or not, but something is awry.