This may be because, in 19 years, neither of us have ever remembered to celebrate it... or at least never at the same time.
Sometimes I remember , sometimes he does.
But never together.
So because we have another week to wait, we can enjoy the build up.
Imagine, if you can, two people who have spent a lot of the previous years touring about the world with rock and roll circuses, trying to decide where to get married.
"I know!" he says. "The Tang brothers!"
(They are technicians working with him on the same Michael Jackson tour. )
"They have a beach hut in Barbados. They've said I can borrow it. Let's do it there!"
We call up embassies and collect our various paperwork.
When we arrive in Barbados, we discover that there is no civil ceremony...
you get married in church, or if you are active non believers like us...
you do it in court, in front of a judge.
But the first thing to do is to obtain a marriage licence a week beforehand.
So off we go to the appropriate government building... to sign lots of papers.
Suddenly nerves set in as we realise the enormity of what we are about to do.
Fortunately, nature has equipped us with hormones to see us through these precarious moments.
Soon to follow:
judge Theodore Walcott gives his legal opinion on our case (number 75, just after a case of theft)
my new husband narrowly escapes death by drowning on his wedding afternoon...