It has recently come to my attention that you are presently to be married (if you have not already been – such trivial facts as the exact linear events of history tend to lose their significance once one is over a million years old).
Still, felicitations are in order! I say bravo on honouring one another with insects and the blood of your enemies in the traditional manner. Jenny says that this is not the traditional manner for apes at all, but I cannot believe you would conduct an entire marriage ceremony without so much as a single delicious offering of live crickets. I filled a room with them on the event of my nuptials to Jenny, and she was most appreciative, although they did prove a devil to get out of the curtains.
I suppose I might also offer you some advice, having been married now for a century and a half. Although don’t ask how I’ve kept Jenny alive this long – really, the Doctor would be most upset with me if he found out I’d stolen the device that’s extending her life span to Silurian equivilance.
In the first, I would suggest that you never go to bed angry – far better to go at each other with swords for a half an hour or so until your rage at who has stolen the last raw steak from the fridge has been extinguished.
In the second, appreciate one another’s frailties and flaws as much as you do one another’s strengths – I have found that, though apes appear mostly soft and vulnerable, smelly, near blind with no sense of smell and impossibly slow reflexes, it is these things that have most forced you to adapt to become so interesting (at least, some of your number). If Jenny were not so small and slow, I wouldn’t have grown to admire her ability to live so well and to be so funny and clever. She is lovely to me because of her weaknesses, not in spite of them. And in the third, I would suggest you celebrate the ways in which you are different, however much they may also introduce strife into your relationship. Jenny’s smallness and strangeness – and the sheer amount of hair on her, I mean really – are very precious to me, however much the hair in particular is an occasional inconvenience (how does so much of it end up in our shower drain? What is she doing in there?).
We should not have gotten on half so well if we weren’t so different. I would not have been so intrigued by her and she, extraordinary being that she is, would have struggled to find an ape as interesting as I, a lizard, am. And perhaps your differences may not be so extreme as ours, but you will find enough of them to treasure, I’m sure.
Now, I have three murders to solve and an especially unpleasant MP to swallow so I will leave off here. Jenny may add a word or two, but you can rest assured that my advice is sufficient to sustain near 150 years of marriage.
What my good lizard wife means to say is that she is very happy for you, and so am I. Also, if she must complain about hair in the shower, she might also consider the inconvenience of scales on all our bedsheets and in the sink in the mornings. Her bi-annual sheds are the worst. Thank your lucky stars neither of you are lizards. (Although I have been told that Amy has her doubts about your ancestry, Katy. Perhaps you’ve a Silurian great grandparent? I’ll reserve judgement).