A wedding in the north Lake District (Rousse)

The Cumbrian pub just off the M6 was crammed with wedding guests. They queued everywhere – for their room keys, to use the bathroom, at the dining room door at breakfast etc.

The low bathroom to guest ratio meant that sharing the bath water was expected. I jumped in after TPR, forgetting to take off my T shirt and mint green cardigan.

As I set off back to our bedroom, a wedding guest in the bathroom queue spotted my soaked clothes. It was only when she joked that she hoped that I had another outfit for the wedding ceremony that I realised that I had not packed anything suitable. Another person joined in the conversation with the suggestion that if I was no longer planning to come to the ceremony, perhaps I could babysit her son for the afternoon?

Meanwhile TPR was fielding questions from others about our connection to the bride and groom. He batted them away with replies along the lines of ‘They are friends of my wife’. However, when I checked the names on the blackboard in reception that listed wedding arrangements, I was certain that I had never heard of this Stephen and his fiancĂ©e.

In fact, we had only booked this accommodation to give us a break on our journey north away a holiday in the south of England. We had nothing to do with the bridal party, their family or friends. Rather, everyone else had just swept us up into their plans, assuming that our booking was for the same reason as theirs.

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