Leading up to the weekend the weather forecast got worse by the day. On Friday night the BBC news predicted heavy rain from the West - the beautiful county of Devon was completely blue on the weather map.
'Let's put our wellies in the car,' said the (not normally at all) practical Englishman.
'You can wear wellington boots to a wedding but I'd rather die,' I thought but just nodded. I've learned it's best to nod when the Englishman has a good (but mad) idea. I'd bought a lovely and surprisingly comfortable pair of Castaner espadrilles in a small shop in Covent Garden, which would go perfectly with an outfit I'd worn to Glyndebourne festival a few weeks before.
When we left London early Saturday morning the sun was shining, and it wasn't until we pulled up to our hotel that the heavens opened. Perfect timing...
The rain beat down outside when our friends made their vows in the most crowded little country church I've ever seen, with the most eccentric and charming vicar I've ever met. He could have given Rowan Atkinson a run for his money.
'I'm glad I've got our wellies in the car,' said the Englishman and nudged me when we got out of the church and put up our umbrella. Driving up to the farm along a bumpy track, I saw that the Englishman might be right after all. There was water running along the ditches and the temporary car park was a mud bath. I gave in.
|My Hunter (what else?) wellied wedding look|
|The marquee was huge.|
|I wasn't the only one sporting wellies...|
|Group photo being taken from the window of the farm house.|
|Long tables in the marquee.|
In spite of the bad weather to start off, this was one of the happiest weddings I've been to a for a long time. The food was excellent, the wine and champagne flowed, the local college big band performed to adoring guests who filled the dance floor to its absolute brim. There were Lords and Ladies and more eccentric Englishmen and Englishwomen than you could shake a hairy stick at. It was as if I'd been on the film set of Four Weddings...