We were somewhat hungover this morning, as is only right, but it was worth the pain. I had thoroughly enjoyed the party last night and was surprisingly not feeling the pain from my vigorous dancing (it's been a few years since you would have caught me on the dance floor) - last night I had had to take a break halfway through "Pretty Vacant" by the Sex Pistols to get my breath back. But then I was back pogoing with other middle aged men who should have known better and who once could have done this all night.
A champagne breakfast was brought up to our room and even though the idea of drinking champagne made me feel a bit queasy I got through a couple of glasses. You have to really don't you? It was only later that I thought we could have told the man who brought us our feast not to open the bottle and we could have kept it for a time when we felt like drinking, but what the hey?
I am in any case assuming that this is now all part of married life. No one tells you this beforehand, of course, but once you've made this commitment every day a man will bring you up a full English and a basket of pastries and a bottle of champagne to start the day. I'd have done this years ago if only I'd known.
We didn't have much time to luxuriate though, as we needed to get packed up and up to St Pancras to catch the Eurostar to Paris. I wanted to get there early in case our self-printed tickets led to any issues, but all was fine. The sitcom writer who scripts my life had clearly taken the weekend off, apart from the rather quirky touch of getting my dad to eat lip balm. We were soon off to Paris and I lightly snoozed.
It still didn't feel real and the ring on my finger seemed strange and incongruous, but also slightly lovely. Some see it as a shackle chaining you down to the ground, but to me it felt like it might link to a massive balloon pulling me upwards to freedom.
This might change.
And if I had worried that staying in a posh hotel would not be part of daily married life then I needn't have worried. Because we were staying in an even posher hotel tonight, with fresh fruit and posh chocolates and a bottle of champagne awaiting our arrival. As long as they keep filling us with champagne then surely marriage will always feel like a balloon ride. There was also a little pot of foie gras to eat, which I didn't altogether approve of, but I thought I'd give it a little try just this once. I mean I assumed it was foie gras. It would have been funny if it turned out to be lip balm.
But the lid was tightly stuck on, so after twisting and pulling and nearly giving up, my wife suggested I use the knife to prise it off. She's a sensible woman and I did as she said (as I will be doing in all things from now on), but it worked a bit too well as the heavy glass lid flew off and smashed into one of the champagne glasses smashing it to pieces. Oh yes, my sitcom writer was back at work and churning out the formulaic stuff, after having surpassed himself with the lip balm.
This was not the romantic start I had hoped for and we picked up the shattered glass. I tried a bit of foie gras and didn't like it anyway, so it was all a waste of effort. But good to see me inheriting my family's legendary aptitude for real-life slapstick. I hope I can pass this on to whatever sexcrement this union might produce.
And just in case we hadn't had enough food and drink already this weekend we then walked up the road to an incredible restaurant with some of the most delicious food I have ever eaten. Just me and my wife, married for over a day now and still going strong. I know a lot of people at the wedding secretly didn't think it would last this long, but we proved them wrong.
