More often than not, you will see me referecing my other half, but as the turbulent stories of my life take centre stage, she often sits quietly in the background, outside of all the noise.
Sitting outside of the chaos, she's often the first person to tell me when I'm wrong, to help me see a poor choice or decision, and as history shows us - I more often than not, don't listen and plough on regardless.
This morning, she woke up, looking beautiful, I sneaked a peek at her little sleeping face just before she opened her eyes and had one of those appreciative sixty seconds of happiness, of silence, of grateful understanding.
Then I got her morning "mole eyes" (it's what we call her sleepy face, she opens her eyes and looks like a little mole whos just seen sunlight and decided it prefers the dark) adorable as opposed to gnarly little beasties I assure you! (although I think moles are pretty darn cute)
She got up, and stomped around the bedroom as she often does when she is up first, like a baby elephant searching for shoes, bra's, whatever it may be.
She's searching for bits and bobs to pack an overnight bag as she's off to a conference, and for some reason, this morning she is anxious.
The tumble drier is rattling away because she wants a specific pair of socks, this sort of tunnel vision focus is something she has picked up from me, I'm sure of it.
When I'm anxious, I have a specific mind, I plan and prep and nothing gets in the way. Apart from me.
Dressed in cute corporate looking suit shorts, and a little floaty, sleevless top, with her perfect tan poking out in all the right places, shapely arms, thighs, she's always had a hot bod, I'm a lucky girl. No doubt about that!
She still looks nervous.
Why?
She is beautiful, smart, driven, kind, and fluid in a way that she rolls with what life throws our way, very rarely ruffling her feathers and being stolwart of sensibility and rationale.
I tell her so. She smiles. And makes coffee.
Particularly excited about our bargain buy of some snazzy Lavazza that we picked up for £1.62 in Tesco this weekend.
She is an odd one.
Hates instant coffee, likes Guatemalen, Columbian and her favourite is Nicuraguan.
We had a pretty phenomenal cup of Nicuraguan coffee in a little town called Tewksbury a few years ago in a little coffee shop with a glass front, laden with cakes and bread, it was quirky and cute and we talked about bread. How it would be great to have a little shop where we could bake and make and sell bread.
If we had known what the reality of that actually meant, we would have left that fantasy in the coffee shop that day and run 100 miles in the opposite direction.
When we met, she took her coffee with lots of milk and sugar. She's evolved. We both have. Perhaps it's the hilarious evolution of growing up, where coffee becomes a part of necessary life, you really do turn into the stereotype of needing it before you can start your day. It's part of our routine.
We get up, we make coffee, always proper, if we are leisurely Sunday sipping, we get the 'wazzer' out (how Jamie Oliver with our coloquielism) and theres even warmed, frothy milk to accompany a strong americano.
If anything we have turned into my father, which is truly horrific. A man who once gave Sarah a coffee order and I quote
"Americano, extra shot, no milk, just foam, floated across the top"
This was at a Costa coffee in Altrincham where he waved a £20 note in her face like she was the server and sent her to get drinks whilst we sat and pretending to give a shit about one anothers lives for the twenty minutes he had assigned me.
Sarah being Sarah, laughed, took the £20 ordered a fucking Americano, basic, with some milk in it. The pretentious twat.
Drank his coffee, said his goodbyes, and that was our annual touching of the base, checking we are both alive and going on our way.
The second time Sarah had coffee with my father was a take-out Carluccios (favourite) on the way to my Crown Court sentencing, so a fairly tense affair.
My father and his barrister friend had decided to turn up and show some support / watch the black sheep get sent down, still unsure as to which it actually was.
They strode into the Carluccios, ordered a round of coffees and then marched across Crown square to the court, as I sent Sarah off to another coffee shop to await the outcome. A strange thing to do in retrospect.
I never let Sarah in on any of the court stuff, through shame, through fear, that she would see me as a monster and run for the hills. That if she knew I could be such a poor verision of myself she wouldn't, couldn't love me, who would?
So I blocked her from it all, including my court hearing, the day I fully anticipated being sent to jail, I kissed her, sent her on her way and left it to my father to text whether it was good or bad news.
He did, and I think it's the only text he's ever sent her.
Something along the lines of "no prison, KCB" profound.
My shitty relationship with my family never phases her, she doesn't feel like she's missing out on something, that there are Sunday lunches and brunches that she mourns dearly.
My father is always rude, arrogant and self centred when he see's her. She once almost slapped him over a hospital bed, when he decided chocolate pudding was a poor choice for a fat girl who had just had an apendectomy. Sarah lets me eat cake. Probably too much!
On the flip side, Sarah's mum is my heart and soul, just as much as she is herself.
When I see the kindness, alturism and hopefullness in Sarah, it's Val, shining through.
She see's the best in everyone, even when she shouldn't.
The reason I'm writing this accolade is because this morning I was dumbfounded by an air of insecurity, I know she's not invicible, even though she's spent the last 7 years being just that, but she is incredible.
So mole eyes and anxious faces, go away.
I text her this morning when she left "You will be amazing, because you are amazing <3 You have limitless potential my love xxx"
Never a truer word was said - and coming from me, TAKE IT!
The crazy woman wants to marry me, after all this time, after all this horror. There has been happiness. We are eachother happiness, underneath it all.
I think I'm selfish for keeping her, because no-one should really withstand this shitstorms that I have brought upon us, but she stands tall, holding my hand, championing me because she see's greatness, kindness and a future.
She is the best part of me, the biggest part of my heart, and I have no doubt she will change the world in any way she sets her mind too.
She is so clever, sometimes it catches me off guard. We are geeks together, and we thrash out political concepts, talk about the metaphyics of ideology, we philosphise over Brexit and wonder how, why, when, where will it take us and how did it happen.
She teaches me about evolution, and tells me snippets of facts that I remember and repeat. She taught me about the DNA sequencing of fruit flies and why they are so important even when I find them irritating and gross.
She teaches me about what she does at work, the mechanics of PCR and molecular biology, the scary things in the world - which means you should definitely take your frozen sweetcorn back to Tesco.
She tries to learn Spanish when I sit down and teach her and somehow despite year's of trying, she still says "Soy con leche" when trying to ask for milk, terrifying potential waiters with her announcement of being with milk!
Her favourite word in all languages is apple, whether it be manzana, pomme de terre, or most recently learnt - elma.
I don't think I've ever seen her eat an apple abroad, so I think perhaps the book of knowledge needs expanding to at least beer, or ice cream, but it's a work in progress.
She sits and listens to my ramblings about society, politics, local economy, the justice system and how much I love Kylie.
About my fears of debt, of life, of the business crashing around us, she listens, she advises.
One thing she has tried to drill into me "it's the business that failed, not you,"
Which I don't take on and I don't believe because the business was me. Always.
The Barker Baker was built upon my shoulders - and so she continues with the sensibility - a business built upon the shoulders of someone who can't take the weight every day, only some days, who needs time to recover, rethink, rebuild, it was a business that could never sustain itself.
That investing in me isn't a mistake, but investing in me as a business and the foundation, well businesses fail every day and that it was the harshest lesson we will have to learn but we will.
And then tells me to keep trying. Not to give up. I bake, I love, she eats, she remembers, and we secretly hope that The Barker Baker lives on so our children can be part of a journey we built for life.
We talked about creating something that would live forever, a bakery, a shop, a hope, that would be passed on, and in 100 years, our great grandchildren would reference their crazy lesbian grandparents who started from a market stall.
Perhaps thats not how the story progresses, but it's a story none the less.
I digress.
When people meet Sarah for the first time, they find her quiet, shy even. That's not whats ticking behind the eyes, its evaluation, its thoughtfulness, its caution. Sensibility.
But I can guarantee you will not meet anyone as deep, honest and true as this woman I call my own <3
You have helped me find the best version of myself. The kind, the hard working, motivated monster. I work hard, for you. I try harder for you, I want to be the best I can be, for you.
Because you deserve everything the world has to offer.
So Sarah, as I know you're a creep and will probably be the first to read this, as you are and have been for years now, my biggest and strongest fan.
There is nothing you can't do.
Even when life gets in your way.
You have achieved more than most people know.
And whilst your CV is shit hot and you shine wherever you are.
I know the strength you have and the potential you hold and I am so grateful that I get to be the one to see it all unfold over the next million decades we have together.
I want to grow old (older) and wrinkle with you, until my gargantuan bosoms touch the floor and for my 60th birthday you get me a titty life and tummy tuck for my birthday - it's a gift for both us.
I want to listen to every word you have to say, and remember it for as long as I can.
I want to hold your hand, on walks, in bed, in happiness, fear and hope.
I want to build a life with you, no matter how shaky the foundations.
Together, we can do anything and everything.
x
