It happened in the mist.
To the readers of Wuthering Heights, mist may seem romantic, but in reality, it feels like you're suffering from cataracts. Never good when you're climbing a mountain without a compass.
Nevertheless, climb we did. (My bf's the outdoorsy sort. I pretend to be.)
After 5 minutes I'd had enough.
Never one to choose hill-walking on a sunny day, the thought of plodding for hours up a steep incline, with not even the hope of a view at the top, seemed, well, pointless. Surely it would be more productive to programme the gym treadmill to 'extreme slope' and at least watch a Friends repeat whilst 'voluntarily' torturing your body?
He didn't agree. On we climbed.
10 minutes later we stopped again. Hyperventilating like a senior citizen with severe emphysema, I declared I could no longer continue without need of burial.
Ever the patient (and long-suffering) boyfriend, he pointed towards a small rock, protruding out of the grey, swirling clouds surrounding us. My salvation.
As I collapsed on the rock, he suggested we take in the view. A sheep wailed in the distance as we stared at the vague outline of small shrub three foot in front of us.
Until, that is ... he pulled a small box from his jacket pocket.
I became one with the rock, stunned into silence (a rare occurrence).
Seemingly unaware his girlfriend had become a somewhat sweaty sculpture, he lowered one knee to the ground, opened the box, and asked me a question.
I said yes.