Wonderful wedding.

But it would have been a vividly memorable week without any wedding at all. In chronological order:

No keys. Greek Helen and I had, independently of each other, figured out where they must be. But they weren't there. She now thinks they must have got out of the house somehow – although she searched the outgoing rubbish during the original crisis. I still faintly hope that the house will eventually give them back.

Mungo has left Glenalmond, where he was lonely and unhappy. He is returning to Athens today and will presumably be back at the International School among his friends tomorrow, preparing for the International Baccalaureate instead of A-Levels. He has been devouring set texts in the intervening few days and I am sure will catch up quickly.

My brother-in-law – my sister's husband – had a stroke on Thursday. I think it has to be classified as a minor one. They were already in Yorkshire. He was taken to hospital, I've  forgotten where – Darlington? Durham? My sister (a doctor, remember) was impressed with the care he received. He was released the next day and allowed to go to the wedding. His speech is affected, and he tires easily.

He did fine at the wedding, with a rest in the middle of the afternoon, during the standy-around-with-canapes-and-champagne bit after the ceremony and before the “wedding breakfast”. They were to have gone to Athens today for a holiday with Helen (who was looking forward to cooking for them from her new Ottolenghi book, “Plenty More”). Instead they are in London with Rachel and will fly back to CT on Thursday if all continues well.

Roger is the youngest of Us Oldies – in descending order of age, my husband, 89 this month; his sister, already dead of colon cancer for 3 ½ years; me; my sister; and Roger, in his early 70's, active and fit, a gardener, a passionate cyclist, a saxophone player, life-long non-smoker, moderate drinker. There's no justice, but we already knew that.

That leaves the wedding, which was wonderful, as I've said. The Princess Shawl did me proud. Lucy had contrived a dress which looked like antique lace itself and the meld was perfect. The weather was beautiful and balmy. My gamble of not shelling out for a Suitable Coat paid off.

Hellie's right -- she couldn't possibly wear the Princess at her wedding next year. Too many people would remember. Something a bit smaller like the Unst Bridal Shawl will be just the ticket, I hope.

Lots of people took lots of photographs. I hope they will accumulate somewhere in the next few days. I took very few.

Here's a tidbit:

Thomas, in the Bridegroom's Speech – the one where it is obligatory to mention “my wife and I” – told us about studying Russian history. He found that Lenin – or was it Marx? – was censured for being uxorious. Thomas didn't know the word, and had to look it up. It didn't seem to him a thing for which a man needed to be censured, and before us all, on his wedding day, he claimed it for himself.

My husband and James got on fine, although blood sugars were very high last night.