When my boyfriend and I first met (actually second, but that’s another story) in the local rock nightclub (since demolished), he was working there as a glass collector. He would walk me home after a night out, which was sweet as it was out of his way. Once he asked me what flowers I liked best, and I said I don’t really know, no-one’s ever given me flowers before (he made a big fuss and said it was sacrilege). One morning after a rare night in, a couple of weeks after we met, I woke up to a text that told me to look outside the front door. Feeling absolutely like a kid at christmas, I ran downstairs and peered out — and tucked into the hanging basket bracket was a single white rose. Plastic, yes. But so so precious.

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