Went to a Ruby Wedding celebration last evening. Fort years married. I was the groom’s best man on the day. I wore a Pierre Cardin suit, complete with waistcoat. It was the suits first big occasion and the first and only time I have been called upon to carry out best man duties. I remember very little about it. Can’t recall making a speech, but remember that I had to thank the bridesmaids and read out the telegrams. Don’t recollect doing either, but trust that I did both. I have hazy memories of keeping the youngest bridesmaid entertained at the reception. A four-year-old can get the jitters at a long drawn-out wedding reception: too much having to sit still and listen to grown-ups drone on in between courses of food that, as a child, you don’t like, washed down with drinks you can’t have. She was there yesterday, my little mate, forty-four now and making the most of the food she liked and the drinks she could have, slipping out frequently to the front garden along with the other ex-bridesmaid to ‘check on the cars’, fags and lighter in hand.

The other guests comprised of those I didn’t know, some, with prompting, that I did and those that knew me but who I had totally forgotten, leaving me trying desperately to superimpose a twenty-year-old face onto that of a sixty year old whose name had faded into oblivion. But no one appeared to take offence and some went on to recount events that fanned a faint glimmer of recall in the back of my mind but from which they had been completely erased. A little disturbing this. Hopefully not a precursor of things to come, causing me to bring to mind the words of an elderly relative now resident in a care home – ‘I don’t know who you are, who I am, or where I am’. Sadly a fate all-too-familiar in a world where longevity is increasing but not necessarily with all faculties remaining intact.

Pushing such sombre thoughts aside, I had a good time and was able to join two old friends in a raised glass to their time together and judging from the lives recounted in conversations by others attending, forty happy years with the same partner being a reason for true celebration. And I’ve still got that suit. When I mentioned it to the bride, a tailor (recently retired) by trade, she kindly offered to let it out for me should I be tempted to relive my youth. A kind thought, but probably best left in the wardrobe as a fond, but slightly moth-damaged reminder.