"Damn this rain," Herbert grumbled as a droplet ran down the back of his neck. "Come on, love, get a move on; I want to get home to watch the cricket, that's if it's not rained off." He shuffled on.
"Stop being such an old misery," Joyce said, turning her face up into the rain. "These April showers always remind me of when we met."
"Ye, it was pissing down then as well," Herbert remembered. He was now some way ahead of Joyce. He turned to see that she was now spinning on the spot and laughing. He shuffled back to her. "Come on, you daft cow." He grabbed her arm and pulled her along.
"If it hadn't been raining we might never have met," Joyce said, looking up into his face and smiling. Remember how we both made a run for the same bus shelter?"
"I remember getting poked in the eye by your umbrella."
"Oh, yes," Joyce said coyly. "You said you were a fan of the Rolling Stones. I told you I preferred the Beatles. Ooh, that Paul McCartney, he's still a good looking lad." A broad grin crossed Joyce's face.
"Enough of that," Herbert said, playfully slapping her hand.
"Then you suggested we go for a coffee, wait for the rain to stop. I can't believe that was more than fifty years ago." Joyce was dragging her feet again, lost in the memories.
"I can't believe it's our Golden Wedding tomorrow. Fifty years - you get less for murder. Now come on, I'm getting soaked."