What a time, what a wedding, what surroundings in Dromoland as Emma and Owen got married. I had great, swelling pride as my sister walked up the aisle, flanked by my mam and dad, and the whole thing was magically done.
There was mania leading up to it, of course, from the moment I landed in Limerick on Saturday with my top button open. Buttons featured throughout, indeed. Done, undone, waistcoats, shirts, buttons pushed and hearts full. Yar.
Myself and Emma stayed up late on Saturday, drinking and talking.
They met through me around the 1999/2000, Owen a friend of mine from college. I shat it initially, he was four years older and she was finishing school.
Still, my initial anxiety soon abated and eight years on they're away to Tokyo, to Las Vegas and to New York on their honeymoon.
Sunday was a great preamble, full as it was of people arriving in the Clare Inn for beer and pre-wedding bawdiness.
Oh it was brilliant, I eventually took myself to bed at 3am for the day itself.
It went as weddings tend to do, with toasts and teary eyes, and a very beautiful bride. My sister Anne was on chief bridesmaid duty, dressed to kill and performing her tasks of nipping, tucking and organishing with aplomb.
I was among the last to leave the banquet hall, tired from dancing and whiskey on rocks. No sleep was had...