Blessings
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvm9RfG5brRGdY67wd6KB_1J-SIlRQUqxSz5WgNN7MFZL4t4GTVY4YzwYHZxmDqt_gfp6y_oRUDbpB9q9nmMeQpIKKHx9dvSlTEOBBVFXspJ97V1fW4SrxEbh25nDbcJ0qeu6ZoRHhh4/s320/Registry+Office.jpg)
All the legal requirements were signed off in a minimal office. A stationery cupboard, Daughter 2 reported, laughing. Next order of business was a wedding breakfast: except for the groom, he had to fit a medical into his day (work related, not for marital purposes, in spite of our teasing). People who asked what the plan was were given times and places - more guideline than fact, and even the invites had a wrong postcode but only a few guests were lost. Eventually most of us were there, contented and emotional in the field by the pub, with a wedding arch and an aisle of tin-potted flowers. With a traditionally nervous groom (who is all ready just married to the bride, this is How Much Will I Cry nervi-ness). (Passed the medical too, in case you were worried.) With a traditionally blooming bride (rocking the satin, sweetie) a proud father, a cornflower bouquet, a gaggle of girls dropping petals. And no one to officiate. Which was part of the plan (fan