An Andalucian Wedding

Valerie Day

It had been a good night at the tapas bar. We speculate that the bar owner might well be considering retirement this morning, so profitable must have been the trade from our celebrating family and friends! As I sip my reviving cortado I realise that this will be the last breakfast Ill share with my unmarried son. Once the talk turns to ushers, lunches and amplifiers we go our separate ways : the wedding has been timed for 6pm, after the heat of the day.

Rory is marrying the lovely Tiziana, part Italian/part Spanish : totally international. They met in Amsterdam. I wonder at, and find myself envying, the almost careless way in which the current generation move between countries and form the closest of allegiances. Their mutual friends speak many languages and call a host of places home and I feel honoured and enriched to know them

I leave this wonderfully opulent converted townhouse and wander out onto the ancient streets of the Andalucian hill town of Ronda. It feels oddly self-indulgent on this important day to have only myself to please. I check that the ordered prendidas (buttonholes) for family and ushers are ready: these are in memory of Rorys elder brother Angus and Im choked momentarily in remembrance of him and his love of MacDiarmids Little white rose of Scotland. They will be worn with pride. White roses will also decorate the church and be carried by the bride.

I pause to take in the breathtaking vistas from the bridge spanning the plunging 100m El Tajo gorge into which undesirables were thrown not so long ago. Im too excited to shop, constantly being accosted by groups of familiar faces, how odd it seems in this foreign place. After a prolonged and very sociable caf lunch of tapas and iced draughts of gin tickled with tonic, it is time to get ready. ... (continues)