The sun shines on the righteous

I've written in these pages before about the joy experienced when getting together with a substantial chunk of my mates to celebrate the wedding of two of them, and I was privileged to be invited to another such occasion on Saturday.

Set just outside Sudbury, in the heart of Gainsborough country (which, while still far from being in full leaf, was appropriately bucolic and entirely beautiful), this was a day when it finally felt like spring had arrived in all its glory. After what's felt like six months of unending grey and dreary cold - hang on, let's rephrase that - after what has been six months of unending grey and dreary cold, the sun warmed us nicely from an azure sky as the guests were taken to the venue on an old Routemaster. (Number 159 no less, the route home for me down to Streatham; so kind of the bride and groom to think of us south London dwellers in such a fashion when they must have been busy!)

A cracking venue, marvellous food - as I said on the night, never before in my life have I seen too much dessert, I wasn't even sure such a thing was possible - and the couple picking up the tab for the drinks all night, all combined to make this a most convivial occasion. One thing, though. No matter how beautiful the weather, no matter how lovely the setting, no matter how much fine food and booze, these things are only as good as the people which complete the occasion. And what very, very fine people these are.

As I've often said on here, I genuinely think I'm ridiculously fortunate to find myself surrounded by such good people, and privileged to call them my friends. That two of them should be kind enough to invite me and so many others to their wedding is humbling and gratifying, as was the kindness and cordiality of their families, the joy in the best men's speech and the general atmosphere of goodwill in the whole thing. I joked on these pages after the stag do that the stag (now the husband, of course) was batting way above his average, but the truth of the matter is of course that these are both people of the very, very finest qualities.

That I got so pleasantly blotto*, saw those two outstanding people get married and spent the evening in the company of most of my closest friends left me counting my lucky stars once again. I wish the new Mr and Mrs M all the very best.



*Rumour has it that I was seen front and centre, singing loudest, into the early hours at the post-reception sing-song. I can only, in response to those rumours, quote the groom's own speech, as he introduced the best men, fearful of the contents of their forthcoming address. "Filthy, lying mouths..."

Café con lechery

I've just returned from the usual week-and-a-bit sojourn to the house I'm (extremely) lucky to part-own, with my girlfriend, in the Galician hills. This will go some way to explaining why nothing's been written on here lately. Shall I make another blog entry, or shall I continue to lounge here by the pool and drink beer in the sun? Tough call.

Anyway, spending time at said poolside with a mate who's single has introduced me to the concept of café con lechery, the process of discreetly spotting attractive ladies through one's sunglasses while enjoying a coffee at the bar. Not that I indulged, of course, in such conduct unbecoming an attached individual – I have eyes only for my beloved, and write only to record the process as a matter of anthropological record. Moving swiftly on...

I'm not much of a sun worshipper, preferring the colder months of less sweat and more football, but it was on this occasion a blessed relief, given the wretched weather we've been having in Britain, to have an excuse to actually use the bloody shades for any reason other than to just pretend one is cool by wearing them indoors, for example.

I was struck by the difference in the faces between people here and there when I returned. The Galicians were complaining about having a shit summer because there have been days when cloud has interrupted the usual diet of pure cyan skies and, yikes, even occasional spots of rain! Also, the temperature has dropped into single figures overnight (*gasp*) because the wind has been coming from the north. This is what, for them, constitutes an awful summer. Given how resolutely absent the sun has been from Britain this year, I can only forgive the fact that British faces, by comparison, looked pale, drawn and rather sullen on the Gatwick Express as we headed home.

It's to our credit as a nation, I think, that we put up with this pretty stoically. We are, honestly, world, friendly once the initial reserve is overcome, tolerant, fairly happy and uncomplaining people. But even Brits have to see the sun once in a bloody while. May it shine on us for the remainder of this season, so everybody else gets the chance to indulge in that sunglassed pastime I was introduced to by my mate last week. It's not for me, obviously; I only have eyes for my beloved – did I mention that?