Sunday

The day starts predictably slowly as wedding guests crawl out of the woodwork, as well as a few tents in the garden. The usual rumours abound as to various people having spent the night together - K, gossip machine that she is, is right on the money with her guesses and spends the rest of the morning winding up the pair in question. Savage, sure, but really quite funny.

The weather is pretty dismal compared to the previous day, but K and I, determined to get some fresh air into our lungs, go for a walk down past the church and into the woodland. Neither of us feel particularly good so we soon turn back and take up residence in the false-panelled drawing room reading the paper and catching up with everyone else's tales of drunkenness. After a couple of trips up to the bedroom to truly mong out, we are informed that the father of the bride's massive Sunday barbecue is underway and that the meat is plentiful.

And it is - a few burgers and sausages later and we're both feeling a lot better, if still pretty wiped out from caning it three days and nights in a row. However, when it transpires that there's an awful lot of booze left and that Ellie's parents need it drinking, I'm back on the West Country cider from around 6 and sipping it lazily in the warmth of the drawing room. This weekend may take a wee bit of recovery time.