‘They say they can’t do it tomorrow. The papers haven’t come.’ Catriona, just back from the village, was shouting up the stairs.
‘Oh?’ I said. ‘Who can’t do what? What papers?’
‘You know. Our marriage papers. For the ceremony.’
‘Papers? Marriage? Ours? Ceremony?’
‘Well, not exactly marriage. Of course not. It’s a civil partnership.
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
TRY A MONTH FREE
Our magazine articles are for subscribers only. Try a month of Britain’s best writing, absolutely free.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate, free for a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first month free.
UNLOCK ACCESS Try a month freeAlready a subscriber? Log in