Kiss from a Rose

It is the day after our wedding.

The rose on my lapel is withered and looking a little worse the wear (much like its wearer).

We're exhausted with happiness and looking forward to the new day as husband and wife for the first time. We're up early and we wonder how m'boy is getting along at Nanna & Grandpa's.

We're at breakfast early for a full fry up and we revisit the day before with aunts, uncles, cousins, parents and friends. People hang around for a little while, but soon start to drift off home with our thanks and gratitude hopefully echoing in their ears.

The morning is spent drifting around the hotel bar. As the rain falls outside, we count our blessings that our nuptials were taken twenty-four hours beforehand. The decision is eventually taken to move on to another hotel for lunch, after which close friends decide that the time has come for them too to make their way home. I embrace as many people as I can hoping that a mere hug will express the depth of my gratitude for their presence.

A foray around the lakes aquarium brings the day to a close. The remaining few succumb to the excesses of alcohol and emotion of the day before. Not long after, my reinforced family is back in our home, unpacking, reviewing, sneaking cake and as we open the many, many cards given to us the tears come again as we bear witness to the overwhelming generosity of our friends and family.

A shattered Carmenator - annoyed by not being able to watch all of Return of the Jedi - returns to her mother leaving a proud father in her wake.

The day after concludes by jointly bathing our beaming son, eating indian food and comparing notes on the Eurovision Song Contest during which we admire the new jewellery on our left hands and my wife tries to get used to her new surname.

Sleep is not far behind.