Oh lovely pussy, oh pussy my love...

The wedding was perfect. The weather was superb, the site stunning, my outfit a little bit loose due to a bit of inadvertent weight-loss. Bumblebee said 'The Owl and the Pussycat' without a hitch, Best Beloved said his vows with a glint in his eye, and I had to stop myself from laughing out loud from sheer joy. The food afterwards was just right (mounds of prawns, a fabulous whole blue-eyed cod, marinated beef and lashings of salad). The cake was one of Mum's experiments, one that worked: bottom level was mandarin semolina, the top level chocolate almond. We sat around all afternoon in the shade, looking over to the beach. None of the kids threw up, nor any adults. My lovely old Nana got progressively more pissed, saying odd things every now and again about how wonderful we all were.

At the end of the day we all wandered down to the beach where the rising full moon was a stunning pumpkin-orange in the inky-blue sky, and Best Beloved danced with me on the edge of the sand. This meant more to me than the whole day put together, because he is morally and physically opposed to dancing (not anyone else, just his own body), and I love a good sway/bump/grind/pogo. So when he started to dance me around on the sand it took a moment for me to realise what he was doing, and I held my breath (or breathed very shallowly) until we stopped. Magical! Better than magic.

So a few days later I am sitting in an internet cafe in Bateman's Bay avoiding the heat and waiting to go in to the cinema to see Bridget Adams 2. The cabin we are staying in has a fabulous view of Depot Beach, just across the road. We have been feeding parrots and kangaroos by hand, and eating good food, and rediscovering the joys of cryptic crosswords. Two more days till we go home, and it is flying by far too fast for my liking.