It’s wedding day and, of course, the bride and groom are the stars.
Although judging by the… ahem… (choose your words carefully, you’re dealing with the a large Italian family here) enthusiasm of the photographers, you’d think the guests were all A List celebs. Even during the church service, each and every person is individually papped in their pews. And it continues throughout the day and into the evening.
But having a lens shoved in your face is a small price to pay for the hospitality on offer. First, the ceremony itself. Proceedings begin like the introduction to Eurovision, with the Anglican vicar from Wigan delivering his opening greetings in both English and Italian. Then, the Order of Service is carefully laid out in two neat columns, giving equal measure to both languages and we go along. It’s beautiful, and so’s the bride.
The reception is a couple of miles from the church. But instead of having to make our own way there, there’s a double decker tourist bus to transport us, complete with comedy Italian guide giving commentary on some of the spectacular sights:
“In dees building – huh – is a da militaria muzeeeeuuum. Very good for da men, not-a so interesting for da ladies.” Brilliant.
And there’s more to come. The reception is held in the Palazzo Brancuccio.
“It’s your typical Italian wedding venue,” Tim told me a few week ago. If this is typical, I’d like to see luxury.
And those were just the desserts on a SEVEN course menu.
In between the food, a collection of speeches. Letizia’s dad deliver his in English, Tim’s in Italian. It couldn’t have been more spectacular.
We ate like Kings, were papped like Princes, and Rome is a place I can’t wait to get back to.
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