Well, Friday morning dawned inauspiciously with the Dorset and Somerset Air Ambulance circling the house before landing around ½ a mile away up in the direction of Peacemarsh! 
All packed up and rarein’ to go, Ossie was outside awaiting the taxi at 10:00 although the main attraction of getting down to the railway station early was the bacon butty and coffee from the small refreshment kiosk. Tickets acquired at the cost of an arm and a leg, despite Old Codgers’ railcards, we boarded the 10:51 Waterloo train and had a smooth journey up to the capital, arrival dead on time at 12:48. After purchasing a couple of London maps, we hailed a black cab to take us to our hotel, the Saint Georges at Langham Place which is right next to the BBC studios. He took us past all the sights – Westminster Bridge, Downing Street, Trafalgar Square – and on the maps, yes it is a direct route from A to B, but traffic was a complete crawl, it took over half-an-hour, and we finished up with a £30 fare! If we hadn’t have had bags, I’d have done it by bus, probably in the same time, for nothing! 
We met my Sister in the hotel reception. After a bit of confusion, as Master O had made the reservations and was due to settle up for the rooms - I had already given him the funds for it - but the receptionist seemingly wanted our credit card details as well (which we politely refused to give), we got checked in. Nice enough hotel, but unpretentious, and the room we had looked as if it needed a bit of refurbishment (no drainer over the bathroom sink plug-hole, for example, so if you accidently dropped anything in the basin, it would have been irretrievably lost down the waste pipe
); nevertheless the views over the London skyline were stunning. Master O who was also staying in the hotel on Friday night eventually arrived and then took off to meet friends to finalise the following day’s preparations, leaving my S, Mrs O and myself to entertain ourselves for the evening. S and I decided to go and explore, and eventually finished up, via Harley Street, in the Food Hall of Selfridges on Oxford Street, where more than a few tastings were undertaken! 
Directly by the hotel, between it and the BBC building, is All Souls Church, quite a well-known local landmark, and they were advertising an evening event – the celebration of Rosh Hashanak, the start of the Jewish New Year (we’ve just entered year 5778 by their count), which actually started the previous day, but these Jewish festivals usually run for a least 48 hours. It’s one of the Jewish High Festivals, and Ossie was delighted by the attraction of free food!
About 200 folk attended, seated at round tables heaving with delicacies such as pomegranate seeds and hummus on bread, apple pieces arranged around a bowl of honey for dipping (symbolically to usher in “a sweet new year”), and Kiddush wine, our bottle displaying a label that it had been approved and blessed by the Rabbinate of New York State, USA – again, a very sweet and heavy red. The event was run by a local group of Messianic Jews – Jews who accept the New Testament teachings of Jesus – and they took us through the traditional prayers and readings (in both Hebrew and English) of the Jewish festival, including the breaking and sharing of loaves of specially-prepared bread (freshly baked and supplied from Golders Green that morning, we were told ) and the blowing of the Shofar, or ram’s horn, which was absolutely ear-splitting. The following morning, Ossie and Mrs O dressed in their finest plumage, because if you haven’t guessed by now, Saturday was the day of Master O’s marriage.
We walked the short distance to Asia House, the temporary home of the Westminster Registry Office for the ceremony. A crowd of around 40 family and friends witnessed a lovely ceremony (in which the bride and bride’s mother got very emotional), very well conducted with warmth and humour by the local Registrar, and then it was back outside to board a hired, decked-out, old-style London Routemaster bus for a tour of the town, finishing up at the London Eye. Going past all the tourist places, we were much photographed and waved at, mainly by Chinese and Japanese! 
Whilst the remainder of the party were prodded and poked into two pods, Ossie “You’ll Never Get Me Up In One Of They Things” Ostrich sat on a wall with the bus driver and had a long and fascinating discussion, putting the world to rights ....Reboarding the bus, we were then driven up to the reception, which was held at Fortnum & Masons on Piccadilly. A room had been reserved on their fourth floor, where you go for your posh teas, and I must say, they did us proud. There were five large round tables laid out for the guests, who were served with some sort of cocktail to start with (no idea what, but it came with a straw
). Individual cake stands were brought out with finger sandwiches, scones and clotted cream, and small fancy cakes were served with real tea from a teapot, bottled water, and Prosecco for toasting. I was able to catch up with a guy I hadn’t seen for many years who is now a director of the League side AFC Wimbledon, and in charge of their up-coming ground move back into the borough; they’re taking over and refurbishing the old greyhound racing stadium. The various speeches went down well, and when the younger generation were starting to settle down for a long evening of it, we oldies hired a taxi back to the hotel.By Sunday morning, the Ostrich had had more than enough of London
– the bird had slept very poorly, and despite sticking his head in the sand, could still hear the roistering, horn honking and police sirens that seemed to go on all through the night 
; our bird was thus intent on making a prompt departure back to the sticks. Mrs O, however, insisted we met up with Master O and bride, who had over-nighted at the much swisher Langham Hotel opposite ours (fancy doormen in waistcoats and bowler hats blowing whistles to summon taxis from the rank ), so that we did, for a brief goodbye, before dashing in one of the aforementioned taxis back to Waterloo where we caught the 11:42 with two minutes to spare. A lengthy journey back, with a diversion via Twickenham, Egham and Staines, which I believe was Kaz’s old stamping ground, before arrival back in Dorset to find cabs seemingly don’t operate on a Sunday! So the Ostrich had to walk home, and bring the car back to pick up Mrs O and baggage from the station. Glad it’s all over now, to be honest. Ossie isn’t good at big events and it was a bit of a strain for the bird (Mrs O was in her element, whirring and happily networking at the various events
). I am looking forward to a good night’s sleep and up the garden centre tomorrow to buy the winter pansies …. back to normality! 
