It was like travelling with Mick Jagger. We booked into separate rooms at the hotel and, that night, like some groupie, I held a seat for him at a Georgian feast, but he never sat down. Later, his girlfriend kept him on a lengthy phone call, an exhausting one-sided shouting match. Long after midnight, he came to my hotel room to apologise, although he didn’t owe me anything.
We lay clothed on separate beds, just talking.
My life’s a mess, do not get involved, he warned. But he came over, wrapped his arms around me, and thanked me for listening, then fell straight asleep.
We toured the crumbling beauty of Tbilisi in the morning, heading to the 11th-century cathedral of Svetitskhoveli. That’s where it began, inside the sacred ancient space. Mike took my hand and held it. We walked in silence among the icons and pillars. I felt peaceful, but giddy when I emerged. He did too, he told me later, but we kept it to ourselves.
We continued across Georgia, breakdowns and conditions worsening as torrential rain dogged us to a mountain resort. This time, as the group split into room-mates for the night, Mike made sure that we shared a room.
The next morning. I was elated, but also calm. I had an overwhelming sense that as long as I stayed with him, everything would be okay. Smiling, he suggested we should probably marry
We shared a tent, making our beds very definitely at opposite endseach other instead of our problematic partners. I said fine, not thinking twice, because it was slightly preposterous, five days on. At the same time, nothing was preposterous any more.
Face makeup for a fairy Photo Gallery
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