A Nice Day For A . . .

Today the daughter of old friends was married. It is an interesting match: middle-class, Brazilian-Iraqi British-born girl weds working-class Yorkshireman. Here is the bride with her parents and new husband.

The ceremony was certainly unconventional. The priest was a combination of cleric and black Hughie Green, who deviated from the script whenever the fancy took him. It was so off-piste that it would almost certainly earn him a spell in a Catholic Boot Camp if the Vatican ever gets wind of what he is up to. There were so many jokes and so much solicited applause that it almost descended into 'Newlyweds Got Talent'; the happy couple eventually danced off to sign the register to the strains (and I mean that most sincerely, friends) of Lord Of The Dance. At least we were spared ring-bearing owls.

The reception was held at a 17th-century hall nearby and was two hours late owing to the ineptitude of the Gok Wan-clone photographer who insisted on creating a love heart made up of those present, no matter how many might succumb to unconsciousness brought on by hunger in the process. Things might have proceeded quicker and more smoothly had he created a template of a heart shape for people to conform to or fallen off his ladder. To add to the fun, the best man delivered a joke about the Queen during his speech which was so off-colour that in another age he would have spent the next couple of decades hanging upside-down in a dungeon.

At least the Father of the Bride's speech was heartfelt and loving and a good time was had by all who were revived by the dinner.

Wish them well.

Choon.