It was the biggest party in Hexham since my own wedding in 1987. Everyone was at the reception. Prince William represented the royal family in his red tartan trousers, sporting heroes Jackie and Bobby Charlton entertained the younger guests with a spontaneous game of kick-around on the bottom lawn, and even Elton John was spotted mingling with the family of the bride. My cousin A couldn’t understand why I was so keen to capture on camera the antics of the celebrity guests. She didn’t appreciate that Bobby Charlton was the David Beckham of the 1960s.

I hardly saw the bride all day. In fact, I wasn’t sure whether I was at the wedding of my sister J, or my sister-in-law S, or LM from running club. I did, however, do the bride a big favour by hiding two red dye bombs in the shrubbery outside the front door. Some joker had watched these explode over bridal gowns as part of the marriage celebrations documented in My big gypsy wedding. Such trivialities were completely inappropriate at an event as posh as this.