Well I never claimed to understand what happens after dark But my fingers catch the sparks at the thought of touching you

Maybe it’s Dooce-esque, maybe it’s sad, but definitely it’s heartfelt – today is our six-month-iversary.

Ian and I have been together, and in love, for six months. Yes, I’ve had longer relationships, but none that were so long in the making, so hard fought for, so cried over, so damn worth it.

It’s been a wavy six months – we got to the UK, I had to find a job, I moved jobs twice, and found a great one. Ian went back to his existing job, applied for one he really wanted, had his little heart stomped on when he didn’t get it, and then got an even better one.

We’ve had plenty of fights, there have been times when I thought we wouldn’t sort it out, that we’d end tragically and stupidly and that I’d grow old alone and be 78 and have 300 cats and big blown-up photos of Ian and naked Jude Law in my house, and they’d call me crazy lady.

But we’re here, I woke up to see the Ianus, eyes tight shut against another workday this morning, and when he hugged me goodbye today I felt so proud of us.

So here’s to the man I love – to how every day I’m grateful for my sister for being my email pimp that night in Cape Town. And here’s to keeping him to myself for another six months, at the very very least.