Ed is in Chicago

I am getting married. It is still a strange and wonderful thing, though the deal was clinched on September 4th last year, and had been in my mind for a long time before that. Some of the details are laborious and anxiety-inducing, but on the whole, it’s a fine thing to get distracted by. I have absorbed by clothing options in recent weeks. We did the whole fabric-choosing thing when we were both in Italy together at Christmas, and I got myself some stuff to make into a suit, and the dress fabric was chosen, but recently I have been trying to tempt Flora with by the afghan wedding wear - dresses incrusted with metallic thread, and rich with shimmery silks and beads. As for men, you can get the most decedent-looking Arabian Nights-style shoes, turned up into points at the toes, and similarly embroidered with finely patterned filigree. If pressed, I would have to admit that perhaps these are not the togs to go up the aisle in (what does the guy say in the service? – that “…marriage is not to be entered into lightly or unadvisedly, but soberly, discreetly, advisedly…” and all that). So I wonder whether we can programme a series of changes into the occasion, with different outfits at different points of the party, like in the gala concert of some old-school superstar.