I made it to the 1971 FA Cup final at the old Wembley Stadium in London, the pinnacle for a football-mad youngster in those days.
As was the time after a night out in Paris when a prostitute with blue hair asked me if I, er, "had the time". She must have thought I was a right smart arse when, completely unaware of EXACTLY what she was asking, I said "it's 3am" and carried on walking.
Closer to home I have been there for the birth of my children and, most importantly, I was fully present in body and spirit when a certain lovely lady said "I do" on the shores of a Pacific paradise.
In reality we got caught in the middle of a tropical cyclone in Rarotonga and it was chaos. Everything was soaked through and upturned. But I didn't really notice. It didn't change anything. Just proved she was the right one for me.
This week she did just that again.
Let me explain.
There comes a time in every relationship when things need to be taken seriously and dealt with. For example, it may be one side of the partnership is spending too much time at the golf course and some jobs round the house are being put off and not getting done. Like that bit of discoloured wall lining under the tap in the bathroom. It's a bit spongy when you push it.
Naturally, one side of the partnership has been meaning to get it sorted but that hasn't happened fast enough and now it's led to a big leak, a lot of humble pie being scoffed and equally large helpings of "I told you so" being served up.
Anyway. Long story short. I was wrong. She was right and that part of our bathroom needs replacing.
I can't exactly remember agreeing to it, but apparently I did and somehow the small project has ballooned into a much larger one and we have a full bathroom renovation booked in with my mate the Scottish Plumber and his associate Bubbly Builder.
I'm sure you must know them. They are the two tradesmen you see round town laughing and rubbing their hands together with glee.
So, we've been advised the best way to move forward on this is to get materials in as fast as we can. This is because of delays caused by the Covid pandemic.
Accordingly, my amazing garage, which like all blokes I consider my domain and which I jealously guard from outside interference, has become something of a warehouse.
Aside from the usual collection of bikes, golf clubs, tools, the giant treadmill we last used in 2001, the Christmas tree, the freezer and a whole load of the kids' stuff they promised to take once they had their own house (sound familiar), we've now got a lot of bathroom stuff.
There's a bath, a toilet, a vanity, a couple of benchtops, two basins, some tiles and some other building materials. So it's pretty chocka.
In our garage we've also got three or four items of wooden furniture Mrs P has been planning to sand back and paint white – she did a course when it was all the rage don't you know – once she has time.
In fact, now that I think about it, probably the only thing we don't have in our garage is a car! But I digress.
So, you are probably wondering what all this has to do with the start of this piece and me prattling on about memorable moments in one's life.
It's all very simple really.
The other day, as I was trying to find space to put the lawnmower away, Mrs P rushed up and breathlessly explained she'd just found another vanity on Trade Me. Everything about it was amazing and it would fit her design idea perfectly. She had bought it on the spot.
Naturally, I felt obliged to remind her she'd said the same thing the month previously with the first vanity she'd bought on Trade Me. But I went further.
Enough was enough. We simply didn't have the room anywhere for anything else. Something would have to go.
I already knew I was a lucky man but what Mrs P said next just reinforced it for me as I tried to keep my emotions in check.
At 4.30pm on May 22, 2021, a date that will go down in history for me, she said: "You will just have to build yourself another garage."
* Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@whanganuichronicle.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
