A wedding

Yesterday a good friend got married to her ‘forces sweetheart’. I use the old-fashioned term deliberately ‘cos my friend is an old fashioned girl. Her wedding was the most traditional I have been to for as long as I can remember.

She was lead down the aisle of the church by the proudest father possible, to be wed to her soldier boy newly returned from Afghanistan. Family had flown in from various other continents to celebrate her day.

I was one of a group of six friends also attending, and I hope we too did her proud in our finery. Her sister was bridesmaid and looked just as stunning and as happy as the bride. The groom was tall and dignified in his uniform, which as the day and then the evening wore on he kept correctly buttoned up even though that stiff collar must have been tiresome.

The frock! The most beautiful dress I have ever seen. Diamante and pearls and a full veil.

The ceremony over, we were fortunate enough with the weather to be able to take pics outside the pretty old church at the edge of the city, before moving to the reception in a gracious old wood panelled building overlooking panoramic views of the city. The weather stayed clear and dry for more photo opportunities.

Inside my friends and I reunited over the champagne and canapés in an enthusiastic catch up of news old and new as some of us had not met up for some years. Then it was time for the speeches and cake cutting and the meal.

We were treated to wonderful entertainment with what has to be the best wedding band I have ever heard. The bride’s present to the groom: a fireworks display in the grounds. Absolutely terrific!

More food, to warm us up after the fireworks: hot soup and wedding cake to follow. More, much more dancing, then the final Auld Lang Syne finished off with stirring Scottish songs while the band packed up and taxis were ordered.

But the highlight was seeing the angelic little ring bearer in her sticky outy white frock with little furry cape, scooting around being the centre of attention the whole time. Only falling asleep when the bride and groom departed at midnight. All of the children were incredibly well behaved. The little boys in their kilts and the girls in their glamorous party frocks running around in separate tribes until one friend got them together and taught them the Dashing White Sergeant.

As is traditional with me and this particular group of friends, we were last to leave, having been of stalwart assistance in pouring the father of the bride into a taxi, and (failing) to mop up the tears of the overwrought bridesmaid. A wedding would not be a wedding without family fall-outs, and if the father of the bride cannot rely on his daughter’s friends for a tipsy dance or two, then it would not be a normal occasion.

I've played about with the images here as my camera took a naughty turn and produced lots of blurred pics, so these seemed appropriate for the blog.