It was the day after the 2010 Fifa World Cup, Monday the 12th of July to be exact.
We had gone big the previous night as did the entire universe and to make the hangover even worse, it was a Monday and typically it was mundane and taking forever.
I happened to be online on Facebook – which was still very taboo back in the day, minimising my screen at regular intervals – until I received a random “hello” from an apparent friend of mine with the name of Kevin McDonald, a hippy-like golf professional who had a liking for tartan trousers.
Four years, three months and precisely eight days later, I now happily possess one of the longest names around – Tamlyn-Leigh Patterson slash McDonald.
Here’s the thing though – He lives in West Drayton, just outside London and I live in Potch, about 100km from Jo’burg. And as things stand now, we don’t even know when we’ll see each other again because the world has become a weird messed up place in which two people who happened to fall in love and get married, aren’t allowed to be together, well not without a lot of tears, disappointment and heartache anyway.
Back to that afternoon …
The “relationship” soon blossomed and we “took it slow” as far as cyber fairy tales go. Private daily messages eventually turned into e-mails followed by Whatsapp messages and finally phone calls that carried on for hours into most Sunday mornings.
Eighteen months later I took the plunge and booked my ticket. As if not already magical and daunting all at the same time, I arrived in the English capital on a chilly Christmas morning. After being interrogated by Heathrow immigration staff in what would become routine procedure, I eventually walked through the arrival gates and finally got to meet, who I already knew was the love of my life.
I won’t lie, the first few hours were beyond awkward. Kevin dropped me off at his flat to unpack and accompanied his mother to Mass leaving his dad who was sick with Alzheimer’s at home, while the turkey was resting no doubt.
Suitcase still unopened, I discovered a six-pack of Red Bulls in his fridge (bless his heart) and Radox bubble bath – all favourite comforts of mine and for a brief moment I smiled, satisfyingly … knowing that my mother’s disapproving friends were wrong and no, I hadn’t landed up in a box somewhere in the desert as they had so cleverly predicted.
We both soon melted and had an amazing three weeks together. We played golf, went to the Emirates to watch my beloved Arsenal, ate too much curry, laughed till we cried and … as we would experience several times during the next four years … we had to say goodbye, this time the tears ripping our hearts out with each breath.
Being a golf writer at The Citizen, I had the wonderful experience of covering the Open Championship in July 2012 and of course I got to see my douchebag, (as we affectionately call each other). Kevin was due to visit me next but his dad passed away in December so I flew to be by his side early 2013.
He popped the question and we tied the knot in my hometown on the 7th of September 2013, with the intention of applying for my UK spouse visa immediately thereafter.
But things haven’t worked out due to visa complications and after several sacrifices which included me giving up my job, we are yet to live normal lives as a married couple.
Our story isn’t unique … thousands of people meet online and get married et cetera et cetera but our love has stood the test of time and as Kanye West so fittingly suggested in his smash hit “Runaway” – “let’s have a toast to the douchebags”.
You bet, Kev and Tam’s time will come.
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