My sister got married twice last week, both times to the same bloke, thank goodness. She was married on the Thursday by the state in a register office, and on the Saturday she and Stan stood in front of an Anglican clergyman in a church and asked God to graciously add His blessing to that of the British government.
The state affair took place in the same register office as the one at which I fruitlessly gave notice of my intention to marry Cowgirl back in December. I felt such a nit. There were only three of us there to witness the union, so I couldn’t hide in the crowd, but, if she recognised me, the registrar was tactful enough not to mention it and I was grateful.
Before she started, she took Stan and my sister to a side room for a pep talk, and with nothing else to look at in the properly soulless room, I studied a cheaply framed print on the wall, which I recognised as ‘The Health of the Bride’ by the Victorian artist Stanhope Forbes.
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