It's a very special thing, when you've moved to a new country, to be invited to someone's wedding. Most of our friends here are people we didn't know before we moved to Oxford - to learn that they think us such an important part of their lives is both humbling and heartwarming. Ela (nee Chrobot) and Steve share a love of music and the same birthday. Their big day was the most perfect expression of who they are. The church service in Abingdon was held in Polish and English, by an Irish priest who struggled over the pronunciation of 'Elzbieta' (Ela's full name) and who made us all laugh at his jokes. The fabulous Ormandys (Darren who works at the Tower of London, Catherine-from-Sydney and their daughter Keira) came up from London, and Keira made a stunning debut as flowergirl (not bad for 'not yet two'), following instructions to the letter ('go to daddy, he's down the front, look!') and cheering endlessly afterwards. Maybe it was because Sophie had brought Tim Tams.... mmm.
Adjourning to the Vicky Arms in Old Marston, we were greeted with fizz on arrival and fiddles were broken out even before we sat down to eat. 
There's something extra magical when two people come together through music - you could see their love of it, and each other, shining from their faces. 
Joe, as best man, gave a cracking speech, which was followed by more champagne and the obligatory (for the Poles), rounds of vodka, which the landlord had put in the fridge 'all night' to make it cold. As the hospitality flowed and tongues loosened, I found my fledgling 'please's and 'thankyous' learned in Warsaw last December, coming more naturally. There was even a smattering of chattering in French, with one of Ela's workmates.
Well soused with free bubbly, my night ended earlier than some, safely cocooned on an airbed at the lovely Phil and Sophie's, who also served up a cracking cooked brekkie the next morning...Today has been pretty quiet, but it's been a happy, happy day.
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