The last of my single siblings got married on Friday.
In a big old (and cold) English church with proper gargoyles (my nephew pointed them out loudly during the ceremony), and with a proper traditional service complete with bell-ringers suspended in a gallery above us. And a vintage roller as a
getaway wedding car, although with my brother’s history there were quite a few people who felt that it should have been a battered land-rover.
It was an absolutely joyous family wedding – most of my large, far ranging family were there, so I spent a lot of time catching up with people I don’t see as often as I would like. My sons and Blossom all looked lovely – Hairy wore a kilt, because Blossom wanted to see his knees, and I won the converse battle, so Mouse looked very grown up in proper black shoes, a dark suit and a bright yellow tie with penguins on, borrowed from Papa. He actually agreed to me tying his hair back for the occasion, it made him look both much older than he is, and very much like his uncles.
Handsome looked handsome. And he actually danced with me more than once, which is always a plus. As most of the men in my family do not dance, we’re all quite accustomed to either snagging other people’s partners if they do dance, or just giving up and dancing with each other (sans handbags, I promise).