Comadre

We eventually met up with my 'comadre' (daughter's godmother) this evening, having failed to find her and her group in the restaurant. We had been told that if it wasn't raining, we'd be sitting outside, but it WAS raining - and there were no tables outside anyway. Eventually, the staff pointed to a series of gazebos, set up along the edge of the square on the other side of the road,  sheltering tables and chairs - and our friends.
 
Sharon is a long, slim, elegant streak, and had the nerve to be wearing the highest of high platform sandals, forcing lesser mortals, such as me and even her new husband, to stand on tiptoe to get anywhere near her. Not to mention cricked necks. Luckily, we were sitting down most of the time.
 
She had brought her wedding album - superb photos, taken by a photographer called Brent something-or-other, and samples of the menu cards and little gifties the guests received, tying Brazilian to British themes. Everything was fun, beautiful and extremely stylish, from the rings, made by the Ringmaker, in Glasgow, to the bride's dress, copied and adapted from a black gown bought in France, and the groom's Vivienne Westwood suit and Alexander McQueen tie (with minute skulls - skulls!?? - embroidered on it). It all reminded us of how sad we were to have missed the wedding in August, as we had returned to Brazil one week earlier - dammit, but we bought our tickets in February, before they set the date)!