Another decent weekend for the Roquefort Files (I'm starting to get suspicious. It's all going to come crashing down at some point).

As if my impending birthday wasn't enough to hammer home my advancing decrepitude, I went to my first proper friend's wedding on Saturday. I've known Finlay for as long as I can remember knowing anyone and he always struck me as a bit of a career bachelor, so it was doubly weird to be attending his wedding. The wedding took place in Craigsanquhar House, situated approximately a light year from civilization in what can only be described as the depths of Fife.

I must admit to being a bit misanthropic when it comes to weddings. You start with a load of people who would never normally get together and stick them into a marquee/social pressure cooker for twelve hours. After the initial warm glow of seeing the bride and groom get hitched fades away, make them listen to a DJ that introduces Robbie Williams songs as "Something for the laaaaadies now" as his homebuilt disco lights cause flashbacks to the 70s and miscellaneous epileptic seizures.

This is not, to my mind, a recipe for a successful social gathering.

Thankfully, this turned out to be the first wedding I've ever unreservedly enjoyed1. The service was conducted by a canonical (heh) "genial minister" type, complete with the odd endearingly stumbled-over word in the vows from Finlay and Louise. The meal wandered by pleasantly, with a typical "Oh! You're a war criminal? How interesting!" wedding conversation that was amusing rather than cringeworthy. I met a few people I hadn't seen in years, turned out to still get on with them, and generally got tolerably mangled.

The band, initially looking like a bunch of past-it old buffers turned out, surprisingly, to be a bunch of past-it old buffers that rocked. So long as they could put a swing beat or a country twang into a tune, they belted it out with the enthusiam that belongs to those clinging to a Just For Men'd youth. They threw a few ceilidh numbers in as well, finished off with Auld Lang Syne and managed to be a pain-free as a wedding band could possibly hope to be.

And that was basically it; somehow, a load of disparate people and things coming together to make up something that was genuinely worthy of a couple getting married, instead of the discomfiting car-crash socialising of your run-of-the-mill wedding.

On Sunday I headed home, found out that the exhaust on the Capp seems to be slowly trying to escape, and went for a run in the evening. I can encapsulate my state of mind as tired but happy.

And subconsciously adding another £300 to the Capp's repair bill, obviously.

1. okay, okay, maybe if the best man's staggeringly attractive and elfin girlfriend had been, say, not his girlfriend then things might have been marginally better, but you can't have everything :)