Going Gently provides The Prof with a somewhat shadowy home.
Here he is often depicted as the bellowing straight guy to my bumbling, shabby, slightly comic fool.
He huffs and puffs like a Victorian patriarch when I fall over, dress inappropriately and wax lyrical over a zombie tv programme and seems to be constantly disappointed by my slap dash country ways.
Some of this is true, some is exploited for comic effect...that is the truth of blogs
He is my husband and I love him dearly.
But I am no Doris Day.
I'm not an easy spouse despite my depiction of self as a Mother Theresa/ James Herriot sort crossed with Alan Bennet.
The truth is that I am an opinionated, stubborn and at times incredibly difficult character to live with and The Prof has lived with me for two decades.
I was thinking only yesterday of when we actually started to live together and do you know that I cannot remember the date clearly.
One day I was living in a large Victorian terraced house in Hillsborough all alone with my cats then the next the Prof had filled the left hand side of my empty wardrobe with natty clothes and had his own office in the back bedroom!
It all felt very fluid and right.
Our wedding day was the happiest of my life
It felt very right too.
He is my valentine