Because you, the reader, have suffered through my blog posts about finding an outfit to wear to the wedding, I offer a brief summary of the fabulous event...
That morning, it was pissing down with rain. I was glad that I'd recently bought myself a nice trenchcoat, because otherwise I'd have had to wear the blue oilskin that has accompanied me on every tramping (hiking) trip since I was about 25.
That day, I'd tried desperately to finish handing over my work to the new girl, who I'm sure is extremely competent - but because she is younger, taller and thinner than me, has yet to earn my respect. So when I left work early to get my hair done (by a completely untried hairdresser, because my usual one quit suddenly a week before), I was a little rushed.
My hair turned out surprisingly nicely. It's a shaggy bob sort of thing. I was impressed by how much care Danny boy took over ensuring my hair looked good, so he's a keeper.
By the time I got home, TLM's old nanny (the one before we had before the one who just left, if you follow) had already taken her over to visit some older kids on the other side of town (she had a fab time, apparently). Then the boy arrived. We checked the time. I put on my TradeMe dress, which still fit, along with a black lacy cardigan, black opaque tights and my brand new heels. And my sheepskin coat, because it was still raining but now it was also freezing cold. The boy put on his beautiful silk suit. We left to get the taxi, then he went back into the house and returned wearing a slightly mouldy oilskin over the beautiful silk suit. Oh well.
The wedding was lovely. Despite myself, my eyes started watering as soon as the bride appeared. They even started watering again when, during the signing of the register, Stevie Wonder's Sunshine played in the background. Then the bride and groom marched down the aisle and out of the church, before returning to get their photos taken. Because it was still pissing down and freezing cold outside.
The reception was at a Chinese restaurant, a traditional wedding banquet with whole steamed fishes and exotic-looking fungi. One of our fellow diners in particular, was funny in a Barry Crump sort of way, and after the first few courses (and a few wines) it no longer mattered that the heater was set to 16 degrees and the Chinese instructions could not be fathomed.
Unfortunately, my new shoes were killing my feet - even though I was sitting down. It got so distracting that, by 10.30, the combination of tiredness and sore-footedness drove us to go home before I'd had the chance to catch up with old friends.
So if you're an old friend (or a new-ish one) who was there that night and wondered why I was such a snob, could you please blame those cheap heels I got at the No. 1 Shoe Warehouse?