My friend James got married yesterday, which was pretty great. There was sun streaming through the stained glass windows, a choir and a PG Wodehouse reading instead of that usual drivel about clanging cymbals.
I wept during the vows
because I am a single 30-year-old at a wedding and my ovaries are going ‘PANIC, PANIC, PANIC’ because I always cry at that bit and never have any tissues on me, so I surreptitously wiped my nose with the back of my hand.
I was particularly full of admiration for this gentleman in the pink hat, who took to the dancefloor with the enthusiasm of a patient on day release and danced with his arms everywhere like Mr Tickle. God bless British weddings.
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