The Red Mist - like anyone actually cares…

We’ve just returned from a posh wedding (at Penshurst Place in Kent, no less) and I was all set to amaze and astound you with a tale about a huge coincidence, until Salvadore Vincent posted a story about debunking coincidences with statistical probabilities on his “Smaller Than Life” blog. Nonetheless, I shall press on undeterred, as I still think it’s pretty unlikely.

Having driven all the way to Kent from North Wales (a nightmare journey of foul weather, constant but apparently pointless motorway speed restrictions and getting lost, which took us over 9 hours instead of the usual 7), we traveled back Norf yesterday to stay the night at my sister’s house in Liverpool, so that we didn’t have another 200 mile round trip for a hospital appointment for Mrs. G. at 10:30 am, the day after traveling 300 miles. (The appointment letter only arrived a few hours before we set off for Kent - very helpful.)

Gddik Jnr. had already arranged to go to a friend’s place last night in Conwy, so wanted to come home instead. We had to stop off at his student accommodation in Newcastle under Lyme anyway, to pick some stuff up, so we agreed to drop him off in Crewe, and he could get the train home.

It was just after 5 pm when we dropped him off at the station, and while he was waiting for the next train, he decided to call the friend he was visiting to let him know when he’d be arriving. Incredibly, his friend was at the same station, waiting for the same train, to get back home after visiting his girl friend in Crewe for the weekend.

How unlikely is that??? I was pretty gobsmacked by it, until I read Salvadore’s post. Thanks, Salvadore.

Anyway - back to the wedding…

The wedding itself (my nephew’s) was very enjoyable. It was the first wedding I’d been to for some years, and was certainly the most lavish, by some distance - Penshurst Place being a stately pile, and all that. You can get the idea here - the table under the antlers in the middle picture is the actual one that we sat at during the wedding breakfast. Posh, or what? You can have a virtual tour, too - click on one of the “Baron’s Hall” links to see where the reception was held.

It took over an hour between arriving and the start of the reception for the photographers to do their stuff, and the happy couple to greet us all individually as we filed into the hall to take our places at table.

Not that I’m complaining - they were dishing out generous helpings of Pimms and champagne during this lull, and if I hadn’t been so careful about not wanting to be the one to disgrace themselves publicly, I could have succumbed to the demon drink before the event got properly underway. Fortunately, my dignity remained intact, and I nibbled on little savoury things dished out by waiters muttering something about a “can o’peas”. The peas never appeared, but the Pimms and champers kept coming, so who’s complaining?

The meal itself was entertaining, if only for the synchronised (I kid you not) placing and lifting of dishes to and from the tables by teams of said waiters. Most impressive - Olympic standard, I’d say.

Now you know what sort of circles I move in. I bet you’re seeing me in a completely new light…