That night we had dined in one of the Hilton Cairo’s restaurants, sitting on low cushions and eating mezze while being entertained by Egyptian music, singing and belly-dancing (photo courtesy of Alison). To round off a wonderful time, we took the lift up to the hotel’s 36th floor, where there was a small cocktail bar with breathtaking views across the city and the Nile. We found an empty table at one of the windows and decided to share a bottle of champagne. The waiter we gave our order to performed the usual champagne ritual – bringing an ice bucket and two flute glasses to the table, then bringing the bottle I had selected for me to approve, leaving the bottle in the ice bucket for a while, and finally returning to open the bottle. It was when he was carrying out the last task that he asked, “Excuse me, sir and madam, but are you celebrating something special tonight? Your anniversary, perhaps?” I was quick to reply. “Naw, naw,” I smiled, “we’re just enjoying the view, thank you.” After the waiter opened the bottle, poured the champagne and left, Alison and I looked at each other questioningly. Something was dawning on us. “What date is it?” asked Alison. I thought for a moment. “Twenty-second of April,” I said. We both raised our glasses. “Happy Anniversary!” we laughed together.
It was our seventh wedding anniversary. Next week would have been our twenty-third.
It was our seventh wedding anniversary. Next week would have been our twenty-third.
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