Diego’s wedding took place yesterday, during a rare burst of sunny weather in these days of unsettled climate. I ran across the avenue from my workplace to the registrar’s office at half past eleven to attend the ceremony, which was carried out by a city councillor. He was wearing the tricolour stripe across his dark blue suit, an attribute of the mayor or whoever exerts his functions by delegation.

The marriage was also partly officiated by the bride’s uncle, a missionary in Ecuador for many years and now here on his annual leave. He blessed the rings and gave the couple a beautiful carved wooden crucifix, thus making up for the lack of pomp that people are prone to complain of when they attend civil marriages. I, on the other hand, have grown rather fastidious about lengthy religious services that the marrying couple like to customise with meticulously picked readings and embellish with sung hymns that too often add up to over one hour’s duration.

 

Outside the town hall a huge limousine had been ordered by some friends as a surprise gift to the newly wed. Its front looked rather like that of a lorry and in its awkwardness contrasted greatly with a rather stream-lined never ending row of windows. I suppose it was able to carry a good number of people to the villa that had been hired for the banquet, but I had a work commitment so returned to the office and joined the party only in the evening.

The villa was surrounded by a wonderfully tended park with a flawless lawn and beautiful tall trees. We danced and chatted and had the best food ever, then around past eleven we started on our way back. It had taken us over an hour to reach the place, but it was less on the way back on account of lighter traffic on the motorway.

After Andrea dropped me where I’d left my car, I searched for the key in the purse without being able to find it. I emptied the contents on the pavement to make sure I was not missing it, but soon realised it was not there. I had to phone my friend and ask him to let me try in his car, but search as we can, it was nowhere to be found there either. I concluded I must have left it somewhere at the party, possibly in the bag that contained the gift to the bride and groom. To make things worse, I suddenly remembered I had left the latch key inside the car.

I quickly drew a defence plan and asked Andrea to drive me home where I retrieved the spare key from the garage, then we got back to my car, that I was now able to open and take home. I went to bed at half past one determined to make the most of only few hours’ sleep before a new working day, but at two my mobile phone rang.

It was the groom, saying that he’d found the car key in the bag  and thanked me for giving him the best gift of all, nothing less than a car! I’m sure he didn’t think or pretended to forget that my car is now over 10 years old, and to be true doesn’t even belong to me, but to my brother who left it before settling abroad. Anyway I wouldn’t change the old Polo for anything in the world, and would never think of getting rid of it, not even as a wedding present!

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