The Hunger

Although we're now officially married, the big party and religious blessing is still to come in August, so on Saturday Soo and I went to See A Man About The Rings. It was a very civilised outing - Roger's (the goldsmith) workshop is in a converted stable block in Nutfield village. We sat on a comfy sofa and chatted languidly about gold and diamonds and D-shaped profiles. Quite an education, actually; we now know that diamonds are coded in quality from D to Z, where D has to be viewed through a welder's mask to avoid temporary blindness and Z looks like the sediment at the bottom of a wine bottle. Roger told us that A-, B-, and C-quality diamonds don't exist, but I don't believe him. I think it's just that they're so expensive that ordinary people can't afford to even talk about them.

He then unfolded little paper packets and showed us some seriously nice rocks. Soo, who I thought had vowed to eschew all material wealth in favour of personal spiritual development, was seized by The Hunger. "I want them. Overpower him and bring them to me." she hissed, doing a pretty fair impression of Gollum, though with much nicer hair.

When the red glow had faded from Soo's eyes we discussed designs and decided on rings with five diamonds on each (one for each of our communal children). We're now waiting for Roger to give us an estimate - Soo's determined that the rings have to cost more than the toilets we're hiring for August 7th (which seems fair), but if there are too many zeros we may have to revert to plan B - Redhill Market (I still don't know how they can do those big diamonds for ten quid, even if they are stolen.)


And finally, overheard recently:
Q: "How do you tell if pearls are genuine?"
A: "The old ladies don't struggle so much if they're fake.")