So we got married this Saturday.

Our families trickled in over the past week from six cities in three countries: a total of ten of them. We met on Friday night for pizza and salad, and, the next morning, went over by mini-bus to the ceremony at the local register office. It's right next door to a public library. When taking photos outside, a woman, coming out of the library and establishing my role in the thing, asked me, based on my outfit, in the nicest possible way, if I were "a different sort of person". Yes, yes, I am.

The ceremony was short, and we collectively took lots of photos. We had soup at home, and a gorgeous cake of which more pictures anon. We'd brought the champagne back from our trip to France.

A couple of hours of relaxation and transportation later, we met up for a fabulous meal at The Square, a highly-rated central London restaurant. My most memorable dish was an hors d'oeuvre: deep-friend roe-and-black rice crackers with taramasalata dip. The next evening, after sleeping in, we met up again for a vegetarian feast at Rasa in Stoke Newington, in honor of my sister's birthday.

This morning, I failed to make it to central London to say goodbye to my family: foiled by the tube strike. My immune system clearly knows it is all over now as I came down with a cold this morning. Over the weekend, there were a couple of minor transportation snafus, but otherwise it went smoothly.

In conclusion? I have no interest in organizing a large event, at least no time soon. A small one was quite enough work.