It was a beautifully seasonal day, crisp, with an all-day frost giving way to snow later on. The bride looked radiant and arresting; the groom charming and debonair. The ceremony was full of emotion and the venue warmed by the good wishes of their friends and family. The newlywed couple managed to hide their nerves, delivering their vows in a steady voice, and just beat their guests to the reception venue in the back of a pedal-powered rickshaw.
The cakes were astonishing, genius; the speeches were as humorous as they were brief. The music was great, and the atmosphere even more so. I managed to see many old friends, missed out on talking to one or two others, and ended up very drunk indeed. We were among the last to leave, carrying some of that warmth and gladness out into the night, into the depths of Oxfordshire through white flurries and thawing fields.
It was a lovely, lovely day; which was only to be expected, dedicated as it was to the marriage of one of the loveliest couples I know. I’m tremendously happy for them both.