When I met Jamie twenty two years ago, in his kitchen drawer he had a half carved spoon he'd begun carving for his ex girlfriend when they were still together.

'Don't worry babe', he said. 'I'll carve you a spoon'. Twenty two years later, at camp in Australia, he pulled out the carving tools I'd bought him three years ago and started work.

This was partly because there was a huge cedar tree that had fallen down. I cleaned out the small spare esky and put some sawn bits of cedar in there so it smelt nice - great tip, by the way. Jamie set to whittling whilst I tidied up the fridge that was starting to smell, putting a bit of cedar in there too.

I do have to say that my love for this man does not, and never has done, depend on his whittling ability, or how he's never yet made me a spoon. But I did love him a little more watching him do it. I didn't need a spoon. They're not expensive. I didn't even know what I'd do when he'd finished, and whether I'd use it. I certainly wouldn't want to ruin it.

In the absence of sandpaper, the bowl was a little rough, but that made it all the prettier. Who needs a factory carved, smooth as a baby's butt spoon? Not I.

I asked him for a hole so I could tie a bit of twine in the end to hang it somewhere, which he augered with one of his tools. I was so pleased with the finished result. It was excellent at spooning air from an imaginary bowl.

The following day he whittled me a teaspoon, which was accidentally excellent at spooning spices from paper bags into spice jars whilst on the road. I didn't even know I needed such a spoon, but I'm glad I have one now.

Now, since he's proved himself a spoon master, and has finally fulfilled his promise, I wondered if he'd get around to building or making any number of things he's promised me over the years - a throne or a tiny home, perhaps?