This had to be the most boring and short-lived wedding celebration of all time.
Although some of my most interesting school friends were amongst the guests (including JB and GB, now a married couple themselves), TPR and I were sitting at a table where the main topic of conversation was pallets. RA and CH, both from near Hull, were leading the debate. I was thankful, however, that there was something to engage us, whether or not it was interesting: at all the other tables the wedding guests were eating in silence.
Somehow the family of the bride did not seem to think that anything was wrong. Indeed, they openly boasted about the ingenuity of limiting the celebrations to just three hours on a Saturday afternoon, and took immense pleasure in removing the table decorations (hand-made by the mother-of-the-bride) after the first course was served. This seemed to me such a wasted opportunity, not least because they had hired one of the top Edinburgh hotels as the wedding venue.
So distracted was I in internally criticising everything that I witnessed that I accidentally broke my three-week alcohol fast by taking a sip of red wine at the dining table.
Meanwhile TPR was disappointed that nobody had noticed how we had cleverly coordinated our outfits: he in a black sari and me in a long, floaty, semi-transparent black silk dress.