I remember

When I was studying at Oxford (polytechnic, architecture, 1984) I fell in love with a woman and didn't tell her, her name was Phillipa (and she asked me to nickname her, and I couldn't, because I loved her).

For that summer year I had eyes full of light.

At that time I was what's called a psychobilly (laughable now, and laughable then, as I had little ear for the defining music and was mainly quiff-centric in my admiration of the genre) and she was a northern-noise nearly-goth eccentric.

I spent a year in total, distant love. And hated every silent minute that slipped by, without my saying so.

But other shit happened there (badness in lots of hues) that got in the way, and I ran off.