Another Highland Wedding

So if you've been following me on Twitter - and if not, why not? - you'll know that I've been up to Grantown-on-Spey for a wedding at the weekend. A jolly good time was had by all, although I didn't get to take quite as many photos as last year. And somehow totally failed to get a single one of my grand-daughter, despite her being a flower girl, le sigh.

The bride, groom and some parents at Abernethy Church. Now I want a biscuit.

Flower girls always look lovely, don't you think? Even when they're up to mischief.

Cutting the cake. Mmmm, cake. This one was baked by the groom's gran (see top photo) and cost over £200 to make, most of which went on booze. Must remember to ask for the recipe.

There's no point trying to get them to pose, so why not do the opposite and catch them in their natural state?

We're married now and there's nothing you can do about it!

I think she's just spotted the car. Ooer.

Already planning her own wedding. It'll be a blast!

Wedding Photos

I couldn't take my camera with me, but still managed a few before we left for the church and received some from guests. The official ones will probly be copyright or that.

Princess

Flower Girls

Necklace

Father & Bride

Mother & Bride

Bride, Groom & Chief Bridesmaid

Classy

Gaining A Son

So. Little Miss Farty is no more; now it's Mrs Drummer.

The service went very well, flower girls strew petals down the aisle as I led my daughter to meet her new husband. She didn't recoil in shock when she saw his face, which I took as a good sign.

The minister said a few words: when it came to the "any lawful impediment" part, he didn't even pause to draw breath; you don't want to take any chances with these things.

Rings were exchanged and the deed was done.

A quick pause outside for photos and then Mr & Mrs D headed down to Arthur's Seat for the scenic shots while the hoi polloi were carted off in a coach. Meanwhile the ladies and I climbed into the stretch limo and relaxed as we were transported in comfort and luxury to a classy hotel just outside the city.

Spacious grounds, sunny weather, hardly a breath of wind - hard to believe a week ago it was snowing here. A leisurely drink before the bride and groom arrived, then a blitz of photos. To everyone who asked, "But where's your own camera?", I replied that I had absolute trust in the professional photographer. Which left me free to get pissed.

The hotel staff were friendly and efficient, showing us all the way to our room. A bicycle would have helped: getting there involved negotiating a maze of twisty little passages, all different.

With the meeting and greeting out of the way, a kilted piper serenaded the happy couple into the wedding breakfast. Butternut soup, roast lamb or chicken, followed by sticky toffee pudding were all on the menu but first! The speeches.

Yes, I did do the bit about rising from a warm seat with a bit of paper in my hand (thanks to Non-Working Monkey for that), right through to my daughter being the reigning SE Scotchland Farmville Champion, which got a laugh from everyone under thirty and puzzled looks from everyone else.

And then got totally outclassed by the Best Man speech with accompanying slideshow. Grr!

Missed the first dance as Mrs F and I were up in our room trying to get our granddaughter, Princess Farty, settled. Not. Going. To. Happen. Eventually mum and dad arrived, picked her up and took her down to show her off to the guests. They were suitably impressed that at eight months she was dancing to All The Single Ladies, even though she can't walk yet.

There was a special request from Mr & Mrs D just for me - Westlife singing Amazing. Which was quite thoughtful, considering that they know full well I can't stand the talentless Irish coverband. I'm already plotting my revenge. Patience.

Three little old ladies turned up - I didn't see them arrive, but surmised that they had come by broomstick. I swear I heard one say, "When will we three meet again?"

And once we'd said goodbye to the last of the guests, and made our way back to our room, we found that we'd forgotten to pack Mrs F's underwear, my pajamas, her nightie, my jeans, any toothbrushes...as you do.

Slept soundly, then up at the crack of ten o'clock just in time for a quick shower before a fab breakfast with the folks who had stayed the night. Still wearing the kilt (see above), but combined with a t-shirt because I'm classy.

Cadged a lift home, opened the door to a bombsite. "Oh, my God, we've been burgled again!" wailed Mrs F. "No, wait. This is how we left it yesterday. Oh, lordy!"

Fast forward to Monday, where just as I was about to return my kilt to the hire shop, daughter-in-law dropped off her sons' outfits with an abject, "Sorry about the vomit." Lovely.

Oh, and if you were wondering if anything is worn under the kilt? See the labels below.

A Scottish Wedding

So. Yeah. I was asked to be the official photographer at a wedding in Dornoch this year. Cool, huh? See what you think. Click to embiggen etc.

Killing Two Birds

Remember me? I used to have a blog that I cared about. Then I got hooked on Twitter and let it all go to pot. Yeah, sorry about that. I'd promise a swift return to normal service, except I never did figure out what was normal for this blog in the first place.

So what has Farty been doing, I hear you ask?

[Reader: So what has Farty been doing?]

I'm glad you asked that. Helping Mrs F to babysit our new grand-daughter quite a bit, if you must know, but in between that, I was at a wedding Oop North three weeks ago as "Official Photographer", and have been weeding out the crap, balancing colour, straightening things up etc. to try and achieve something more-or-less presentable for the happy couple. Who are now back from their honeymoon and asking awkward questions, e.g. why is the sky blue, will the universe expand forever and does anyone still watch Ellen?

Any road up, at one point we were at the beach and Mr & Mrs M decided to make this pose:
I think they're expecting me to add some sort of witty caption, but my mind has gone blank blanker than usual. Can you help?

P.S. Lesley, stop drooling, he's spoken for.

Wedding Way Out West

West of Embra, at any rate.

The groom had earlier said that he was planning to wear the kilt, not to the service but to the reception afterwards as a wee surprise for his bride. "Oh, really? And what's the tartan?" asked Mr Farty in all innocence.

"Och, she'll be wearin' a white dress," he winked.

***

It was a warm day as the sun valiantly attempted to break through the dense barrier of Scotch mist. Guests were congregating around the church, chattering animatedly as the ladies compared handbags and hats, while the menfolk debated the much more meaty matter of the price of a pint.

Red Hat Lady

Eventually, everyone trooped inside the kirk and picked their positions in the pews. The bride arrived fashionably late, looking radiant in her thigh-length wedding dress.

"Haud on a minute," she explained, "Ah've jist got tae finish feedin' the
wean." Shortly the infant was unplugged from her breast and thrust into the arms of a rather surprised looking matron at the back of the church. "Mind this fer a minute woodje?"

"Do you -"
"Aye!"
"And do you -"
"Aye!"
"Right. Let's get tae the bevy."

Refreshing

Invisabul Dawg

There's nothing like a long-lens camera for catching innocent moments like this one. (Little tykes refused to pose for their pictures.)
Flower Girls

Red Hat Lady veered into view. "Mr F," she declared. "You're a guid photographer." It was a statement rather than a question. Mr Farty nodded in acknowledgement and she went on. "The bride's wearing a garter," she explained, "but naebody has taken her foty with it yet. Ah was jist wondering if you might be prepared - no, dinnae fash yersel, I'll see tae it that nae charges are pressed this time. Jist dinnae drool too much. And keep both hands on the camera. And fer feck's sake try tae keep yer sporran on."

Garter Girl and Groom

The father of the bride demonstrated the Highland Stagger. Christ, in two years that'll be me, then, thought Mr Farty.
Highland Fling

Talking of which, Little Miss Farty and her beau were also in attendance. "Be careful no tae get mah feet in the foto," she warned. "Ah'm no wearin' mah shoes!"
Young Love

Being the soul of discretion, Mr Farty cropped his daughter's feet out of the picture. See?
What's Afoot?

Tattoos - the ultimate fashion accessory. Mr Farty was sooooooooo tempted to airbrush this one out.
Hot or Not?

There's something magical about a wedding. Innit?
Mr & Mrs