The place would be nice for a small wedding because it was a flat with large rooms. It was my flat, and almost without my noticing it, the place had been converted into a sort of salon in the evenings for poker, scrabble and jigsaw puzzles. The really odd story as to how this came about is a dissertation by itself, but suffice to say, the wife put an end to it. I first laid eyes on my wife, when a guy I knew (a genuine character) brought her by my place to show off. The guy had this habit of renting a limousine, then inviting you to ride with him on a “night of adventure”. And this invitation wasn’t restricted to women and had nothing to do with romance. The problem was that if you accepted the invitation, you wound up trapped in a car with an inebriated border line lunatic, and your eventual escape might well strand you 40 miles from home. So the mantra for all who knew him was “Never get in the limo”. Anyway, “Falstaff” shows up with this lovely and sensible looking woman in tow. He abandons her after introductions and steams straight toward the liquor. I ask “Did you 2 come here in a limo?”. She replies “No, we took a cab. It’s our first date.” To which I respond with the cryptic “never get in the limo.” Less than a month later, another extroverted eccentric breezes through the door followed by the same sensible looking woman. This one doesn’t bother with any courtesies but true to form heads for the booze. The woman quips “you know some very peculiar people”. My answer: “yes, but you’ll never catch me dating any of them.” The next time the sensible looking woman showed up at my place she was by herself.