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The Spanish Wedding

Removing myself from the pitiful and painful, I go to the joyfully absurd. Granada was reaching baking point last weekend, forty-one degrees on the streets. July will be interesting.

 I was unhappy because of the referendum, and my mood reached fret-overload just as the wedding started. The plan had been for my mother to pick up my brother and his boyfriend by taxi and then to meet us at the chapel. We got there, they turned up just before the start of the service, and my mother was nowhere to be seen. They had waited as long as they could,she hadn't appeared so they had had to make their way. I was on the verge of blistering my brother's ears when he told me, but the wedding started so I couldn't embarrass myself by freaking out.  Half way through proceedings my mother turned up wearing a gold/champagne thai silk jacket, a long black skirt that fishtailed out at the bottom, three ropes of different shaded pearls (including gold) around her neck and a pearl bracelet.  She was, to quote my brother, ' Best looking person in the room!'  She modestly hid herself in the side chapel, with the result that comments like 'What, this?... This old thing? Oh you know, I just threw it together...' were kept for afterwards when people clustered around her in states of pure wow. I wanted to tell her off, but she just looked at me despairingly. 'I know!' She said,  'What could I do? The sun and the radio let me down...' I had to subside, laughing at our perfect diva. Sun, radio, learn your lessons and do better next time.

A lovely wedding, a lovely couple! On then, to the reception, held in an old Spanish manor house that was once owned by Queen Joanna the Mad, and was later gifted to Wellington in thanks for chasing Boney out of Spain. It's a good drive out of Granada into the countryside, and my heart, heavy with the news of the past few days began to lift at all the joy, and  the sight of sunset on the mountains, beautiful,uncompromising. That is why I love them.

There  was food, much much food. There was dancing. There was wedding envy on my part; the bride and groom had laid on extra wee things, a signing book full of beautiful photos of them, a wooden frame into which you chucked little hearts on which you had written messages, a photo booth, a candy stall... we seem austere by comparison. And yet I am content :-) Of all these things, none make me think particularly of us. We'll be OK.

Next day, my brother, his boyfriend, my partner my mother and I decided to have a sort of mini- breakfast before going to join the family.  We walked into  a bar only to find them all there in full on eat mode. There were endless tapas and beers before the decision was made to go back to the house  and join a  couple of our number who were missing the fun. Naturally we stopped by a restaurant on the way for more beers and tapas. The whole weekend has been a digestive bewilderment. I may or may not look like a barrel at this moment in time, I certainly feel like one.

And then I come back... and have problems dealing with what I find.



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