Beach wedding

It’s unexpectedly sunny, so the wedding will take place on the beach. A West Highland Motors bus ferries us to the beach access, but it might have been just as quick to walk along the coast.

Lachlan pipes us in. There are chairs for elderly and infirm. The groom is there, but where is the bride? It’s a well kept secret - Julie arrives by speedboat. Fred strides barefoot into the surf and plucks her from sea to strand.

After vows and signing, we process up the hill to the hall. It’s the back of three, and we start on fizzy and canapés. Soon enough there’s a full-on dinner - but not before a medley of apero-speeches. The food is amazing - and the wine is good as well.

Then, ceilidh, with music from Whisky Kiss. Given the predominantly Scottish crowd, you might have hoped for some well executed traditional dancing - but you would have hoped in vain. Great fun, awful dancing.

The band wraps up and out come pies to fortify - macaroni, scotch, curried beef. All sense has deserted me and I eat two - two more than I need and one more than I can cope with. Claire is full of hay fever and antihistamine. So, we stroll down to the beach and walk back the caravan, replete and content.