This was originally going to be a blog about coffee and tea, and how the expectations British people have about coffee in America, and Americans have about tea in Britain, are often disappointed by reality. However, I am discovering, as writers must often do, that my blog is not cooperating. It simply will not behave and do what I tell it to do, and so it shall be abandoned for this week, and instead I shall tell you about what I suppose could be called my husband’s and my date night last evening.

A few days ago marked our eight month anniversary. It seems remarkable that before we know it we will have been married for a full year. Already we feel like an old married couple who have taken to living together like ducks to water. Our habits have become settled and we go about our daily lives with a certain amount of routine which is comfortable and cosy. Occasionally we’ll have a game night and settle down for an intense and fiercely competitive game of Scrabble or cards, and that about does it for weeknight excitement.

During the summer months when the days were longer we would go out for long walks after my husband got home, but now that winter is here we tend to stay in where it is warm and dry, and I must confess that I enjoy the evenings at home when I lounge around in slippers, a big sweater and my plaid flannel pajamas. It’s nice. It’s relaxing.

The problem is that I’m not really a night owl. It isn’t that I leap joyfully out of bed each day belting out a chorus of “Oh What A Beautiful Morning”, but my brain definitely functions better earlier in the day. On an average weekday I’m up at five in the morning. By nine o’clock at night I’m definitely no longer firing on all cylinders; by ten o’clock I can barely string together a coherent sentence. If I soldier through past eleven or eleven-thirty I might get a second wind and start to get very silly and giggle at everyone and everything, but that doesn’t happen very often.

However, sometimes a little effort must be made, and last night was determined would be the night. Did we go out for a romantic, candlelit dinner at a fine restaurant? Oh please! That would be too easy, too commonplace. Don’t you know us any better by now?

Perhaps the text I sent my husband at 10:15am will give you a clue:

Do u want me 2 bring your trainers & a warm hat or socks? It is colder than it has been

Yes, I struggle with the whole texting jargon, being reluctant to totally abandon the English language and punctuation just yet, since I believe it still has its uses. However, if we can cast aside my texting shortfalls for a moment you will probably pick up on the fact that what we were going to do would involve being outdoors in cold weather. Thankfully it isn’t Minnesota polar vortex weather, but it is still colder than our mild January has been up till now.

Around lunchtime my husband responded with a brief text of his own:

Yes please

And so four o’clock found me locking the front door of our home and walking to the bus stop. In the rucksack I carried on my back was a snack of sliced apples, cheese and bread, a thermos of hot tea, my camera, two flashlights, and my National Trust membership card. In my hand was a carrier bag packed with my husband’s trainers (athletic shoes, for my American readers), a couple of pairs of socks because I wasn’t sure which ones he would want to wear (but not the warm, soft, cushiony wool hiking socks, because I had already appropriated those for my use), the fleece lining for his winter coat, a hat because I’d forgotten to ask if he needed one, and his scarf. We were all set for our evening’s adventure.

When my husband got off work he found me warmly bundled in the car waiting for him, and together we set off for Lacock, the charming National Trust village I’ve mentioned previously in this blog, and site of Lacock Abbey, where the first photographic negative was taken back in 1839. From January 25^th through February 9^th, from 4pm – 7pm, they are illuminating the drive, the abbey façade, and the cloisters in celebration of the 175^th anniversary of the birth of modern photography. Most of the nights since the illuminations began have been rainy, but the weather forecast for Thursday evening was propitious, and so we decided it was now or never.

I have to say we were not disappointed. It was truly spectacular. Volunteers were stationed along the pathway from the car park to the entrance of the abbey grounds, and small groups of other visitors made their way through the shadows with us. The air was cold, but we were warmly dressed and comfortable.

Our first glimpse of the abbey made me stop and gape. Lights were aimed from ground level up at the abbey, and they would gradually change colour from green to lavender to red.

As we walked up the pathway toward the grand house we passed trees and monuments which were also illuminated, some in one steadily glowing colour, others changing colour like the main house.

As my flashlight beam travelled over the grass underneath one of the trees I noticed masses of tiny white flowers in bloom – snowdrops. The grass everywhere was thick with them, along with some tiny yellow blossoms that I didn’t recognize, but later found out in the women’s toilets were winter aconites.

Yes, you never know what you might learn in the women’s toilets. A small poster advertising the late winter garden walks with the head gardener was posted inside the stall I chose, and it just so happened to mention viewing the carpets of snowdrops and winter aconites. It goes to show that you can always learn something new, and sometimes in the most unlikely of places.

For over an hour my husband and I wandered the grounds of the abbey and through the cloisters. I’ve always enjoyed walking at night. For one thing I love flashlights (torches for my British readers). Call me simple, but there’s just something mysterious and rather exciting about shining your flashlight beam through the darkness and seeing what it reveals. Plus you can always hold it under your chin and speak in a creepy voice, and that never gets old.

If my mother had been there I know that at some point she and I would have glanced at each other rather slyly and then burst into loud humming of the Midsomer Murders theme song. Even my husband at one point mentioned that it made him feel like he was in a Midsomer episode, and he kept wondering where the body was going to be found.

Inside the cloisters area a recording was playing some sort of chanting monk music, although chanting nun music would have been more appropriate, given it was an old abbey, not an old monastery. It did lend a certain atmosphere to the place, with the light within changing colour from deep green to red and shades in between.

The famous window which was the subject of the first photograph was well lit, with the date 1839 shining on the wall above it quite dramatically.

As we strolled through the grounds we came upon a place where a spotlight shone directly onto a bare stone wall and my husband said, “Hey, take a picture of my shadow,” and then adopted a silly pose that made him look like a cartoon villain.

I couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky I am to be married to my best friend, someone who plays a fierce game of cribbage and can often whip me at Scrabble, someone I can be relaxed and unglamorous with, and someone I can be silly with. Marriage surprises me all the time, and probably what surprises me the most is just how much I love it, and how much I love my husband. Who would have thought a confirmed old spinster like me would ever say that? It may be sappy, but it’s true.

And that was our unique and romantic date night. With that as our benchmark what will we come up with next?