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The Wedding
My wife and I abandoned Britain, as we felt Britain had abandoned and betrayed us both along with our then fledgling company, so moved to Brittany, France in 2000. Never any regrets for doing so, not even for one day.

The region we live in is called La côte d'Amour, Bretagne. Literally 'The Love Coast'; beautiful, green, wide open spaces, forests and spectacular beaches. Bretagne people are fearsomely patriotic but can be a little shy and timid until you get to know them and of course they know us. Then they become loyal 'lifelong' friends.

One such young couple we met at one of the seamlessly running parties and social events showed a quick liking to us and it was reciprocated. We were nonetheless surprised to find a written invitation to the couple's forthcoming marriage in our letter box. So soon but naturally we accepted and posted our reply with thanks.

The wedding date was set for two months hence. My wife bought herself a new hat and I rummaged through my wardrobe trying to find a tie that still fitted me. I hadn't worn a tie since moving here fifteen years earlier.

When French people host events such as birthday celebrations and weddings they do so in style and with aplomb, frequently inviting huge numbers. This occasion was to be no different.

Spectacular wedding with around three hundred guests. Not many of whom I recognised but most likely because I never was much good at remembering faces, let alone matching faces to names. Thus inventing a variety of novel subterfuges during my life so as to conceal my incompetence and embarrassment.

Usual French performance of everyone leaping into their cars after the Service and with hazard lights flashing and horns blaring, racing to see who can be first to arrive at the Reception. As novices we were near last.

Sumptuous long buffet down the centre of the enormous and well supported village Salle des Fêtes. Every village has a well equipped Salle des Fêtes available for hire at modest hire rates here in benevolent France.

"Great wedding Claudine." I said. Only speaking in French of course. "I'm sure your Dad is really proud of you." Her Father had given her away, as is traditional at weddings almost everywhere.

"Thank you for coming." Replied the beautiful, happy young bride. "My poor Dad died ten years ago and my name isn't Claudine. My name is Odile. Who are you?"