Here comes the bride

The days are rushing past and soon “The Wedding” will be upon us. I am referring not, as you might suppose, to the forthcoming Royal Wedding. No, it’s that of my youngest sister. Having taken an unconsciably long time to find her Mr Right, she’s, not unnaturally, determined to have her day in the sun. I have forgiven her for choosing a date that clashes with the Tour du Haut Var.

I have to hand it to her. She has meticulously planned absolutely everything, leaving no stone, not even a pebble, unturned. I, for one, am looking forward to it. It should be a truly splendid day. We don’t often get invitations to weddings these days, not like in our 20s and 30s. Still, I enjoy any opportunity for dressing up and wearing a hat. I have ordered a bespoke hat, and beaded hairband for after the service, from my favourite milliner ( The wedding and reception are being held in the same central London location negating the need for outer layers, usually so necessary at this time of year.

My sister, and future brother-in-law, have enjoyed their respective hen (Dubai) and stag (rugby in Edinburgh) dos and are just counting down the minutes until “The Big Day”. We’re all converging in London tomorrow  evening. Or at least that’s the plan. My beloved is due to fly back from the States tomorrow morning, it will be a miracle if he and his luggage are reunited in time. Yes, I have received word from him that, sadly, BA were not able to get him and his luggage onto the same outward flight. Knowing his luck it’ll arrive after his departure. When you log as many airmiles as he does, this is an all too common occurrence. He would have been travelling with hand luggage were it not for the need to take his wedding clothes with him. Or at least some of his wedding clothes, he left his shirts behind!

Weddings are also an opportunity, for me at least, to catch up with my ever dwindling circle of family and close family friends. It was rather sobering to glance at the wedding party photos from my and my other sister’s weddings. Most of the attendees are no longer with us.

It’s only a flying visit to London, leaving little opportunity to catch up with anyone else. I’m arriving in time for cocktails at The Savoy, followed by dinner at our hotel. The service is the following day at 14:00, giving me time to check out the hotel Spa. Carriages are programmed for way past my bedtime thus, like Cinderella, I shall be taking my leave before the witching hour. The following day, we’re heading back home.

Three bike-less days are more than enough for us, particularly since it’s been raining non-stop all this week. Still, it has given me an opportunity to practice the dreaded one-legged cycling on the home-trainer. This morning the rain abated so I was able to ride with my trainer: sprint intervals around the Cap.

Of course, as soon as we set off the heavens opened. We rode on bravely doing our best to ignore the cars splashing us from head to foot as they drove past. He was putting his new bike through its paces, a Specialized S-Works. While he’s pleased with the bike, he’s less thrilled with the Specialized tyres after almost slipping over a couple of times in the wet conditions. I had no such problems, secure on my Continentals.

I arrived back dripping wet, feeling chilled to the bone, and treated myself to a soak in a hot bath. I’m now feeling nice and warm in my Qatari Airways jimjams and dressing gown. No more outings for me today.

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