Choose life (or a husband)

Last week I went round to the house of a second cousin twice removed. Bridesmaid at my great-grandmother's wedding, her name is Nancy and she lives in a manor house which had not been touched for several hundred years. She came to the front door holding a magnifying glass and led us down the passage to a dining room heavy with the smell of sweet peas which flopped from a vase in the middle of a table awash with maps, old photographs and opened letters.

We drank apple juice from dirty glasses (not that I'm criticising a 97-year-old's washing-up skills) while an exquisite lion swathed in cobwebs glared down at us from a high shelf above the fireplace. "Get him down," said Nancy, "and we'll give him a wipe." She'd brought it back, she explained as I wiped several decades of dust off it, from Iran when it was still Persia and she was an archaeologist trawling central Asia for treasure.

Why is it that women who never marry have

wonderful, adventure-filled lives? Is it possible to have adventures and still get married? Or do you have to choose?

I thought of some old ladies I've known. There was the woman who married the drunk who killed a policeman. She lived the most inspirational life I know - it probably started when the husband was inside. Then there was the lady whose husband used to drag her around by the hair (until he got Alzheimer's that is - he spent the last years of his life drilling holes in the lawn for "the people down there to breathe"). Despite these hindrances, her life also was a complete inspiration: love, compassion and scorching talent.

It seems that you can have an adventure and a husband. Perhaps the key is not to expect too much from the latter.