His and hers

His wife, her bower, his beans, her flowers, his mother's urns, her pond...

I've just finished reading Restoration by Rose Tremain. I see that in fact I read it before, 12 years ago - not that I remember much. My (re)reading was prompted by finding a copy at the house in which I stayed for a week last month, and borrowing it from there, thinking also that Caroline would want to read it: it's currently her book club book. I also thought it would be interesting to compare its writing with that of the sequel, which I enjoyed reading last year.

Two decades separate Merivel from Restoration, which now feels rather ponderous, though the recurring motif of hindsight in reverse remains a charming conceit. I love this passage, genuinely prophetic, written as it was in 1989. "I dreamed, last night, a most infamous dream. I was in a high chamber at Whitehall where a clutch of gallants and their women, together with the King and Queen, were assembled. Why are we all come here? I asked one I recognised as Sir Rupert Pinworth. Why... for the wedding. Naturally. At that moment, the crowd moved to make a pathway for the bride and groom... And then I saw their faces... And I saw that it was indeed... two women whom the priest had married... And Sir Rupert leaned over and whispered in my ear: You see what marriage is become. It is become anything we make it be. And I woke up very hot and troubled."

Nick = Sarah

When champion ballroom dancers get married (at last!), their first dance is well worth watching. This rather blurry image will, I know, be far surpassed by others: a large proportion of the 150 of us present seemed to start flashing away when the music began. Staying in Somerset for two nights, we drove down to Cornwall and back yesterday for the nuptials, the first time I can ever recall going to a wedding on a Sunday. Events weren't in the least spoilt by the rain, which anyway fell more gently than in London. In order to compensate for lack of bunting outside our house, I sported my Union Jack tie for the wedding: it attracted one or two comments, especially from some members of the large French contingent. Altogether, a very happy day.

"Exploring solitude"

This is the title of an unusual exhibition at our Gardens Gallery. It "opened" this evening. Neville Gable travelled to the Antarctic a year or two ago on an artistic commission under the auspices of the British Antarctic Survey. There, he produced videos featuring himself, photographed by cameras (one launched on a kite); and he wrote daily emails to his wife, Joan, who used the text to produce a series of imaginative drawings. A book in a very limited edition has resulted - it was on display, alongside the last letter of Cheltonian Edward Wilson, who was part of Scott's last - ill-fated - expedition. Cheltenham Art Gallery & Museum are promoting this show, and have acquired the videos to go with their collection of Wilson memorabilia.

Seeing our MP, Martin Horwood, amongst others present at the opening, I bent his ear with my view of the government's Alice in Wonderland approach to the definition of "marriage": he said I was the first person in his constituency who had told him of their opposition to the proposal that gays should be able to "marry"; which amazed me. "All that's necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing," didn't someone say?

The meaning of marriage

I'm never anxious to be one to court controversy, but my dander is up over the proposals to change the legal definition of marriage, to allow it to apply to the union of same-sex couples.

The Civil Partnerships Act, I support: it already gives gay couples rights which are equivalent to the rights of married couples. Marriage, however, has always been a contract between a man and a woman. Unlike a same-sex relationship, it normally involves a sexual liaison that is biologically capable of producing issue. Although same-sex couples are able to adopt and otherwise acquire children, marriage is and should, in my book, remain a unique man-woman relationship, one that's vital for a stable, flourishing society. If you, dear reader, agree, please think about signing - at least - one of the declarations going the rounds, like this one, which seems sensible to me.

100 x 2/3

Caroline thought it very self-indulgent of me to make the point that today was my 66 and 2/3rds birthday: something that I feel sure Frodo Baggins would have been keen to celebrate, so why not me?

Whilst walking among the apple trees above Hailes Abbey this morning - see photograph - I reflected that at 33 and 1/3rd I was father to a six-month old son; my lovely wife was suffering from glandular fever whilst pregnant once again, and I had given notice to my partners of my intention to leave my firm, without any clear idea of what I was going to be doing next for a living. An interview at Handsworth Law Centre did not go swimmingly, I remember: which was probably just as well. (I ended up starting up my own law firm.)

The sun shone today; we live in a beautiful part of the world where peace (largely) reigns; I am reasonably fit, and we have a wonderful family, not to mention many good friends. What a deal to be thankful for, and indeed to celebrate on this sort of birthday!

Sunny lady

This afternoon, we visited Painswick's Rococo Garden. It is to be the venue for a blessing and reception following Leo and Mini's marriage, on a date that Mini's family (from Japan) can manage.

Here the happy couple are, standing where the blessing is to take place, in front of the Red House, a folly at the head of the garden with a tiny room behind its rather exotic facade. "What happens if it rains?" I ask. "I am sunny lady," my future-daughter-in-law replies with sang-froid.

Winter wedding in Withington

Malcolm Rooker was a university friend of mine: we met up again after we had both come to work in Cheltenham, in the '70s. Some years later, he died suddenly - at far too young an age.

Passing through the nearby village of Withington yesterday, I glimpsed that the South entrance to St Michael's Church was looking a bit special. Was it decorated for Christmas? No: on further investigation I found myself talking to the bride's mother: today at 4.30 Malcolm's niece is to be married in the church.

The decorations inside are if possible even more impressive than those around the porch, including the largest bunch of mistletoe I have ever seen. It is all the work of the celebrated Sue Artus, I was told.

Our Aga saga

Thanks to Google Analytics, I can tell that my blog has been read in 23 countries - what they must make of it in South Korea, I am not sure - but nobody has so far tuned in from Japan.

Which is just as well, as the Davis family has some exciting news that is highly Japan-sensitive for the present: Leo and Mini are planning to be married next Summer! Even as I write, Mini is on the coach to London Airport to catch her plane home to Osaka: Leo follows in a fortnight, having by then perfected the Japanese for "May I have your daughter's hand in marriage please?", and they will both return next month, it is hoped as a formally engaged couple.

There seemed to be something funny in the kitchen air late on Tuesday evening as I walked in after my Film Society. Though I had already said Bon voyage to Mini before leaving, she and Leo were still there by the Aga, but looking rather pink.

Leo had agreed with Mini that she could decide when to announce the engagement. So - without Leo knowing - she had sidled up to Caroline after supper and said, "I would like to be your daughter-in-law." "Well, that would be very nice," replied Caroline, "but doesn't it rather depend on Leo?" And so the news came out.