I have just realized that today is exactly 70 years since my parents got married in Prospect Road, Swiss Cottage, and were given a pint of milk a day for a year as one of their wedding presents (and they needed it). My Dad died twelve years ago so they only made 58 years, which is still pretty impressive. This year has also been 70 years since they arrived in the UK as refugees from Austria (and of course, we recently had the 70th anniversary of the start of war).
I wonder how my mother has marked this day, if at all. She is 94 now but still living alone, doing her own shopping and cooking, and frequently having nine people round for tea. Which is pretty amazing.