We were last-minute additions to EM’s wedding party. EM himself lent me one of his maids for the afternoon and her first task was to rush back to our flat to fetch suitable outfits for us.

Meanwhile I wandered around EM’s parents’ palatial pile. It looked impressive on the outside with its sandstone Georgian columns. However, inside it was decorated and furnished much like my own parents’ house, with a good smattering of household junk across the floor of each room. In one I picked up a pile of boxed jigsaw puzzles and wondered when they had last been opened.

The maid eventually returned with some clothes and I went back upstairs to dress. Someone else was getting ready in the room that I chose: the mother of the bride’s make-up artist. She had lost all her cosmetics and her client was not pleased. The make-up artist’s solution to the problem of no foundation was to gather dust from the furniture with a small paintbrush. She then transferred this into an empty powder compact for later use.

It turned out that the collection of clothes that the maid brought to the house for us was completely unsuitable. She forgot underwear, tights and shoes, and the dress that she chose for me was far too small. It was my own wedding gown: I hadn’t fitted into that for years.

Meanwhile the wedding ceremony was well underway downstairs. Sadly I missed the main event due to the time I lost puzzling over whether or not I could introduce myself to everyone with my dress zip half undone down my back.