A PIECE OF PAPER FROM CITY HALL

For me, marriage is what religion is to other people: something you believe in because it makes no sense.

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(Picture: The Arnolfini Portrait by Jan van Eyck, 1434.)

I have had many ambitions during my lifetime, some of them admirable, others too sordid to mention. At the moment, there are two which animate and drive me. First, I want to walk from my house to Gail’s—an overpriced bakery at the end of my street—which is about one hundred and thirty yards away.

I am calling this my ‘Long Walk to Freedom’. Training me for this expedition are my three faithful physios, who walk me up and down the length of my living room on a standing hoist, my carer following behind with my wheelchair in case I collapse. After three walking sessions, I can now do twelve laps, and have the horrible videos of me grunting and swearing to prove it.

The second of my ambitions is to marry, after a lifetime of indecision, my steadfast partner Isabella. I’ve barely been to any weddings, and on the rare occasions that I have, I have always been bored.