Yesterday was Independence Day for the Americans. And No-More-Independence Day for the Cullybackey Man. An otherwise perfectly intelligent girl agreed to marry him in a monument on the North Coast of Ireland.
A more spectacular setting for an Irish wedding, I cannot think of. Bagpipes, wind rustling through huge sweeps of grass, a temple on the edge of a sea-cliff a ruined palace in the background, whiskey tasting after the wedding, a very happy bride and groom (apart from some crying down to "hay fever"), a ceili, good people around... and some talk of cross-dressing by someone deeply involved in the proceedings... even aside from the kilts we have to wear...
A really brilliant occasion. And ended up waking up on the least worst man's sofa. In my kilt.
Tired now. Will remember more thinky stuff laterer.
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