Trad
It's been quite a few years (fourteen in fact) since I went to one of those weddings that takes place in the local church of the bride's parents and is followed by a reception in a marquee on their lawn, but yesterday was one such. Barnaby, who has been a mentionee in this blog since a mere three months after its inception, and who we were working out I've known for very nearly nine years, was marrying the lovely Nancy, and it's about time too.
It really had everything you'd want from a traditional wedding - a vicar who seemed reassuringly not that bothered about God, the occasional gurgle of babies from around the church, a smattering of people you haven't seen for a few years, champagne and canapés served by bright young things, a very good dinner, speeches that were by turn slightly rambling (father of the bride), touching (groom) and funny (best man/brother of the groom), jazz band (v good), and a chance to chill for a couple of hours before tackling the vexed question of finding transport back to the hotel.
Good day all round. And the fact that we were back home, having had time to stop and do the weekly shop, by midday on the Sunday of a Bank Holiday weekend, so leaving quite a bit of the weekend still to go was, if you'll pardon it, the icing on the cake.