That's right, Vanessa turns 40 tomorrow.
As I tap this out, we're onboard a train destined for Newcastle; the place where we both studied (the same course), three years apart.
Now, don't be thinking that this is in some way a kind, thoughtful gesture on my part. Certainly not. I am an Ulsterman after all.
No, Vanessa's booked it all. My only job is to make up the numbers (just me and her) and settle the bill come Sunday.
Conversation might be on the menu at some point. But not just yet, on the grounds that she's having her afternoon nap.
Heaven knows how she's going to stay up till 10pm tonight when TV coverage off the Wales v England Six Nations rugby match is due to end.
I'm less concerned about her movements at 2.30 tomorrow when Ireland kick off in Rome. There are loads of shops in Newcastle.
And I'll be clear by 4.15 if she fancies joining me in O'Neill's just opposite the station. (My Ireland shirt is ironed and carefully packed).
We can then look forward to a brief conversation about what a great birthday she's having; just as long as it's finished by 5pm when France and Scotland lock horns.
I might even treat her to a takeaway later in the evening (assuming Ireland win). Then it'll be home on Sunday morning.
For now, I'm off to the buffet car to see what cans they have. I would get the middle-aged woman of the moment one too, but alcohol can be very expensive on trains.
Happy birthday wife.
