There are days and evening that live long in the memory for all kinds of reasons.
I doubt I will ever forget the weekend at the beginning of June when me, my missus, and my mate Kevin ventured down to Bordeaux for the wedding of our dear friends Jean-Jacques and Ramatou.
I have mentioned Jean-Jacques before in posts but if you don’t know him he is a brooding, devillishly handsome, proud Frenchman with a taste for The Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, Lloyd Cole, fine living, family, wine, sushine and friendship.
In short, my kind of guy.
We bumped into each other a few years back (if you want to read about that lucky day you can here) and he did me the honour of travelling to the furthermost corner of Europe for my wedding back in 2003 on the Isle of Lewis.
When he announced earlier this year he was finally doing the decent thing and marrying his long-suffering partner Ramatou I hoped with crossed-fingers we would make the cut for his wedding. We did and what a fantastic time we had.
Now I had hoped to be a slim Jim in time for it but I didn’t quite get that far. However, there was some good news in the run up to the big day. For one, I could not fit in to my kilt, it was too big.
The second piece was that a suit which i had long ago forgotten and chucked in the never-again corner of the wardrobe was just about squeezable.
It meant I couldn’t really sit down close to anyone I loved for fear of taking their eye out with a pinging button, but it was a small triumph all the same.
I had also intended to go to Bordeaux with my new running shoes for a nice run along the banks of the Gironde River as a wake up call, but my missus insisted we take only hand luggage, and also that I should carry the thistle buttonholes you can see in the photo above.
The result was that there was simply no room for everything and the new trainers remained in Scotland.
And so, I gave in to a weekend of champagne, fine wine and song which is entirely as it should be. The food was simply out of this world – foie gras, perfectly cooked steak and chips, and oysters by the bucketload.
It was a superb wedding, meeting many old faces, and forming friendships with a few more.
It was great to see people I saw as recently as February comment on the weight loss, and while the whole thing may have represented a blip in the training, I was glad to have been there and that I decided not to get too anal about my diet.
But as astounding as it was I can’t tell you the suffering that comes with really kicking the arse out of things for three or four days straight, not just in terms of drink, but food.
It took me, I’d estimate, at least two-three days to feel on top of things again.
Since then I’m back in the saddle, and in training again properly.
And the good/bad news? Well that’s that I’m heading back over to France next weekend for yet another wedding, this time for Jean-Jacques’ partner in crime, Vincent Furgerot.
This next one will be in Normandy, the home of butter, brie and Calvados.
Between now and then it is gym-work. And I will try to get my trainers in the bag this time.
In the meantime I have created a little gallery of some of the photos which you can view on our Flickr photo site simply by clicking here.