Bagpipes, booze and oil drums

And so to the UK for the next installment. Mostly photos once again, and as before, more on demand.

The week before the big party was spent organising, tidying, cleaning, putting up tents, and sorting out bits and bobs. It was a busy week, but so good to finally be able to actually get invoved in the making of the party instead of emailing back and forth. 

My parents were major forces in this wedding. There's no way we could have done this without them. The short of the long is that we had in our minds what we wanted, and kept spamming poor Dr & Mrs Mulady with endless emails asking them if they could look at this, or that, or drive here and look at this tent, or that tent. And they did. Over and over again. When they suggested things and we said no, they accepted it without a struggle, but kept on suggesting. I'm surprised they still like us.

We weren't quite so lucky with the weather as we were in Copenhagen, so the canapes and drinks had to be moved inside, which, as it turns out, worked just fine. Besides, it forced people to mingle - something that wouldn't have happened if we had had it outside. As friends and family began to fill up the house, Thilde and I were upstairs being made up by Morten once more, and our UK photographer, a girl I met in London, Holly Falconer, ran around taking photos. 

Dr & Mrs watch as we nervously come down the stairs to be greeted by about 50 people.

"Er, hello everyone."

As the rain began to clear, we all made our way outside for one last glass of champagne before the ceremony. My dear uncle had dusted off his bagpipes for the occasion, something which touched and thrilled me. I had always, always wanted him to play on my wedding day, and once he stopped playing, I secretly knew I had to come to terms with the fact that I'd have to have a pipeless day. I was a bit concerned about what the wife thought but it turns out she was game (good woman). The plan was to do the ceremony in a tent with the sides rolled up, but due to the fine English weather, we had to have the sides down. However, once again this turned out to be a blessing in disguise as people were forced to snuggle up next to each other on hay bales, as we stuffed close to 50 people in one tent. It worked perfectly. 

Unforgettable speeches were held, many, many tears were shed, some serious belly laughter rolled around, and after close to two hours of speechs, including one 3 page (A4) poem memorised by my Dad, we emerged from the tent to find the rain fully stopped, and even patches of blue sky peeking through. 

People drank, photos were taken, and we wandered down the garden towards the barn for more booze, BBQ, and dancing. 

The food, BBQ, was put on by The Secret Restaurant, and was spectacular. 

For pudding there was ice-cream - lots of it - from Cole & Sons, cycled in on a splendid tricycle. He even had Flakes.

We ate off fantastic vintage china from Pearl Grey, and our (whopping) cake was made by Choccywoccydodah. We seriously, seriously underestimated the size. It was huge. And delicious.

The dancing was kicked off with the traditional Danish wedding waltz, and followed by a Scottish Ceilidh band, getting everyone on the floor for a few rounds of Gay Gordon and Strip the Williow. There wasn't a sad face in the house.

We cut the cake after the dancing, and then went on, and on, and on. Whisky arrived, which saw off a fair number, but many stayed and were rewarded with fish and chips at around midnight.

Finally, after people peeled off one by one, Thilde and I turned off the lights, closed the barn, and walked back up to the house. It was the other best day of my life. Walking back up to the house, tipsy, tired and a little taken aback, we finally had a moment to ourselves. It was our dream day, of that there is no doubt. I'm the luckiest girl alive.