Spotting on the Sandbach to Chester Railroad by wyleu

And so the weekend is complete and those that no man may set asunder are happily ensconsed in their honeymoon paradise learning that a wedding isn't actually the end of the process but the beginning. Many a tear has been shed many a hat has been returned to the rental agency and once more the Swan at the Globe can return and prepare itself for the next nuptial.

It's all quite fun really, the traditional male activity of discovering ten minutes before one leaves for the ceremony, that your midriff is too large and your neck too small, is probably something that dates back to the very pre-history of human relationships, as Mrs Ugg desperately sewed away moving the decorative sea shell that held up Mr Ugg's best mammoth skin which had mysteriously shrunk since the last time they'd been along to watch some Neanderthal bride get willingly dragged down the ile by her sheepishly grinning spouse. So it's good to know we managed to continue the tradition. This will of course increase the tension before the next one but since this is one of the few pleasures the male of the species gets at weddings I shall continue in blind oblivion of the state of my few 'good' suits.

Again I imagine the passengers on the flintstone like buses that moved Mr & Mrs Ugg on their way to the scene of festivities all recognised instantly the sight of a couple dressed in a slightly less civilian fashion, the wife stepping lightly in anticipation and the husband dragging along sheepishly behind.

But all in all it went well and I'm sure, as an event, you can be sure it would have died out years ago if it didn't serve some long term good, So all praise to the happy couple.