So the wedding last night was at Polpo (the one on Shaftesbury Avenue).  Polpo is a nice restaurant and every time I passed it, I would always say Oh, yes, we must go there.

I was wrong about the dress code, before he left to watch the rugby, my husband pulled out the invitation and told me that it was “cocktail attire”.  This gave me a sartorial problem because when I think of cocktail attire, I think of little black dresses and of course, you can’t wear black to a wedding.  Although, come to think of it, I have been to a couple of weddings in the US and was surprised to see women wearing black at them so perhaps that is just a UK rule.  In the end I wore the dress with stags on because my children told me that I should.  In any case, the only people whose clothes anyone notices at a wedding are the bride and groom.

It was a lovely wedding – the bride and groom got married in a registry office earlier in the day with only a couple of friends there and then had the party in the evening.  They are going to have another ceremony overseas (he is Swedish, she is American) earlyish next year.


Polpo is in a great spot, the party was in the rather chic upstairs bit so we were overlooking the brightly lit bits of Soho, making us all feel very important.  The food was amazing, particularly the (massive) meatballs.


They also had a super wedding cake.  The bride wanted it to be in the shape of an artichoke (they had artichokes on the tables).


It was delicious but to be honest I was so full I couldn’t eat very much of it.  This morning I had a stinking hangover.  If I were a more grown up, stylish woman I wouldn’t think “Oh wow! Wine! Give me more!” whenever I am at a party.  But I am not and I do.

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