Sweethearts, life is about logistics. Don’t tell me otherwise. I know. Not only was I once upon a time a logistics expert, I was married to one. The only time his heart sank whenever business would take him to Greece. And yes, I did all his packing at four in the morning. And drove him to the airport. Please do bring out the violins. Those were the days when women were women and ironed their men’s shirts. And folded them. Which is why it pays nowadays, for a man, to be gay. Don’t hold me to this observation as it’s plucked out of thin air.
Yes, logistics. And this is one for all fathers known to me past, present and future who – at some expense -marry off their daughters. It’s all very well you paying for her dress. Her looking ravishing. One third into the reception she will have to go the toilet. Champagne in, champagne out. It’s the natural order of things. No one ever thinks about this: Few toilet cubicles allow for meringues. I know this because my dear sweet so young sister-in-law was in despair. Luckily both her mother and I were in ‘the ladies’ at the same time. This was before you tube so no record has been made other than in our joint memory. Yes, so next time you go for a fitting take measurement of dress circumference round the hips and diameter of cubicle into account. And before any of you ask me how the Elizabethans did it, what with their long robes, I will tell you or point you to a historian who knows. Don’t expect to be thrilled.