auntiegwen goes to the country.

I am unashamedly urban, I like pavements, streetlights, shops and Starbucks. I make no apology for it, I am a city girl through and through.

On Saturday, I went to a posh wedding in Arse-end-of-nowhere, a charming village in Herefordshire, I believe I was nearly in Wales. The wedding was held in a marquee in a field. I am sure the setting is beautiful, there were trees and grass and sheep and I am sure that floats lots of people's boats. Sure no harm to them, if we all liked the same things, the world would be a boring place.

Not your auntie.

I had on a very beautiful frock and my favourite shoes, as you're reading this you're thinking, that was a mistake hen, and you'd be right. The car was parked beside the field, in a parking field, so to speak. Then I had to walk IN MY GOOD SHOES (Dune, emperor purple satin overlaid with black lace 5 inch stilettos, I love them)...

through a field, to clarify, not a road, a wet, heel sinking, eat my stiletto type of field.

You can imagine your aunties mood and vocabulary at this point.

The man who'd asked me to accompany him as a plus one was beginning to find me less charming than he'd previously thought. This is a terribly posh man who lives a very country lifestyle, he finds me amusing in a "not quite sure what she is really" kind of way, he has no notion of me at all. He offers to carry me across the field as he is a gentleman but I put my fixed parents evening grin on my face and carry on.

Let me say, the wedding was beautiful, the marquee was perfect, the bride glorious and there was a free bar and dishes of love hearts on the table. The music was like a school disco circa 1982, so perfect for me, and we danced well into the night. I had a brilliant time.

The buffet was a bit different, they had roasted a pig, it still had it's face on and people were hacking lumps off the side of it and sticking them in bread rolls. Vegetarian auntie that I am found that slightly disconcerting.

The people are different, the men were huge, I felt absolutely tiny and they talked about things I had no notion of whatsoever. They just seem to say exactly what they're thinking. There was a very nice, very posh man telling me how he and Charles Spencer play cricket together, I know nothing of this sport, I'm Scottish, genetically predisposed to be bemused by cricket and as I apologised for my lack of knowledge he assured me it didn't matter. he then added, almost as an afterthought...

"Jolly nice breasts though"

Now if some ned had said come up to me in a bar and said "Good tits" I'd have been offended, uber posh man same sentiment, worded differently made me laugh.