Hitchings

So onto this wedding thing.... Fernie Castle, about ten miles up the road. A stone towered manor house in wooded grounds, very nicely placed. More importantly, a subteranian bricked cellar bar, Seventy Shilling bitter with mood lighting, Jura and Highland Park malt whiskey for later. "Quality nice".

Lots of southern people milling around; it's as far as I can tell, it's two folks from dahn sarf having an "ethnic wedding". Me, I'm the bridesmaid's sisters mate, so I'm so far off the bottom of the food chain in wedding guest seniority that I'm barely visible and that's fine by me. Kaz's folks ask me to take some pics for them, so I'm pretty happy all afternoon, strolling around with the BossCam, doing my thing, now got a card full of pics to process for people which should keep me amused. Glad I wasn't the formal photagrapher though, strikes me that he's the loneliest guy at a wedding, constant looking at life through a lens, to quote an album title; other people's happiness; hell, I was only mooching taking pics of people I knew, and even I had to do a quick sidestep to avoid an episode with my mate the Black Dog... a small moment of "always the photographer, never the groom"; before I kicked myself in the arse and had another beer!

You know, it's true. The jocks will deep fry ANYTHING. Haggis samosa's for god's sake in the afternoon snacks. Oh well, that's different. Back to the hotel for a change of shirt, which converts the multipurpose black suit from "smart" to "smart casual" and it's off to the evening reception, for more of the same with a feast of full on haggis, neeps and tatties, whatever the hell that is. Whatever it is, it's very filling, very tasty and makes a change from a hundred trays of sandwiches and chicken bits on sticks; a few more beers and the thought strikes me that when you stand in the loo's and think "hey, those paper towells are exactly the same shade as our uniform shirts" it really is time to take a holiday. Oh, I have. Damn.