The eve of the wedding arrived,

and with Leyla off in the Stambrook Plaza hotel to prepare, the groom and his compadres did the same. Chris and Brian picked up the kilts and I took the opportunity to have a last-minute bagpipe practice. And then we all got drunk.

So it came to pass that on the day of the wedding, where I was required to don the proud national garb of my country and rouse the wedding guests to attention with the skirl of the bagpipes, I was prone on the couch watching Empire Strikes Back and trying very hard not to barf. In our collective defence (Brian was perceptibly wan-looking as well), we'd had a very light dinner of pizza and beer, with a dessert of beer and some beer as a digestif. In hindsight perhaps a little Cointreau instead would have sorted us out.

Fortunately an excellent breakfast of freshly-laid eggs (what else?) and Weet-bix (the vowelly challenged antipodean version of Weetabix ideal for the bowelly challenged) raised me from my torpor once my stomach had stopped churning. The photographer arrived around 1 pm to take some 'candid' shots of the Chris and his groomsmen getting done up in their kilts - no, not that candid - and by 3 we'd arrived at the Botanic Gardens to set up the red carpet, chairs and so on.

Neil, Davis/d(e) and Jenna wandered away from the body of the open-air kirk to help me tune the pipe drones before Leyla arrived, and so I played through a few tunes to warm them up. As I was finishing up Neil pointed through the trees to another wedding that I'd accidentally subjected to an atonal aural battering. We surreptitiously slunk back to our own wedding and I judged the pipes to be as tuned as was necessary.

Almost immediately, Leyla turned arrived with her Dad and I had to stop worrying about playing and get on with just doing it. Somehow it all more or less came together: I got to the end of the aisle just as the tune ended and I stopped without the bag deflating too slowly (in which case it tends to bray like a stricken donkey). I took my place alongside the rest of the kilted contingent and breathed a relieved sigh.

The ceremony was entertaining as well as solemn, and there was a palpable joy to the proceedings - despite the legalese involved in a civil ceremony, it was less grave than a church wedding and in the leafy surroundings of the gardens felt much more celebratory. As the register was signed, I retired to a discreet distance - as discreet as possible with the pipes, anyway - and played a few more tunes. Davis/d(e) wandered over as things were wrapping up and looked bemused; I took this to be the sign to finish up and did so.

We took to the river on the Kookaburra Queen for the reception and to admire fabulous Brisvegas as it slid majestically in the gathering twilight. There were speeches, there was eating, drinking, mingling and even a very little dancing from your host. Anyway, I've been writing this entry for four days and three continents, so I'm going to call it a day now and post this sucker. Next up: rock and roll, baby - we hit Memphis.