Reader, He Married Her

Those of you who subscribe to Vanity Fair or Tattler will of course be aware that it was the Parsons-Sewell wedding on Friday. I am lucky enough to have a long standing friendship with the groom, dating back to an incident involving some yoghurt, a hedgehog and a hilarious series of misunderstandings with the worlds angriest Yorkshireman. As such I found myself invited to the wedding of the year, which sounds  like me being snidey and facetious, but is absolutely true when framed within the context of the small monkey sphere of people I actually care about. The event also necessitated the return of one Robert. W. T. Walker from the antipodes in order to perform best man duties for the groom, who we shall call Andrew, as that is his name. This flurry of social activity is also the reason for no post last week for which I apologise.