I marry you in the playground.

This limitless concrete jungle, a place where wars break, houses are made and tea is served now hosts a grander event.

Spring blossoming hedgerows arch over head framing our glee, we stand together.

Resplendent in sweatshirt, Teflon and scuffed Clarks, your gingham has never looked so glorious, and I feel under-dressed and overwhelmed next to your face. The one that every mother could love.

Presided over by a select few and away from prying eyes, boisterous scuffles over footballs and teachers who just wouldn’t, couldn’t get our love.

Our diamonds and sapphires might be gelatine and e-numbers, but this commitment is delicious. As sweet and sticky as the hold you have over me.

I take your hand in mine and run for the boundaries.