Summer is icummin in - and, with it, weddings. No matter where one looks, or who one speaks to, there are weddings to be discussed, planned for, shopped for and to be analysed. In fact, weddings seem to fill the gap after Wimbledon and before the football starts - although quite why I should see it in those terms puzzles me, especially as I loathe both the beautiful game and the other. We have recently returned from a foray to Brighouse - just to the south of Leeds for those like me who knew only of the feted Brighouse and Rastrick Band, without ever having a clue where either might be - for the occasion of Anna and James' wedding. The trip down was a lark, It took some hours longer than imagined to finally leave Linlithgow, the car packed to the gunnels with all of the things we could not live without for a period of 3 days - and a wedding cake. If you ever take it into your head to think of a wedding cake as a gift, take some time to ponder before opening your mouth and uttering. Goodness knows how many miles, in a hot car with a humid ambient atmosphere, and a white chocolate confection to get from A to B unmangled .... We did it, I am delighted to say. Thanks are due to Paul, who no doubt armour plated the cake as never before! A jolly time was had by all.
And we came home to find that the waste pipe from the sink in the dark room has has some kind of quarrel with itself, and water has been pouring into the wall of the cellar. There has been a damp smell for a short time, but this was attributed to the odd odour which can happen when the rain comes from the north, and comes in under the external door. Not this time! Oh no, nothing quite so simple - here we have sodden walls and dank corners. Heigh ho - back to the plumber.
