Thursday

The day started like any other wedding day, we woke up together, went downstairs and made some Nescafe, buttered two loaves of bread and made ham and cheese sandwiches, it was early and the registry office was booked for 11.00am.

The quad sized Barret house was probably a total of 700 square feet if it was lucky, and we were having family over for butties, a sherry and a cuppa afterwards before we invaded the Poacher pub, just up the road.

Wigan Registry Office was on Bridgeman Terrace back then, not too far from my old haunt Wigan Mining and Technical College and close to Karens favourite childhood playground, Mesnes Park. It was an older terraced house, bay windows and that air of efficiency of the mass market marriage production line.

Arthur, my dad, in typical fashion was five minutes late because they could not find anywhere to park and the usher lady was started to fuss around because there was a danger that we may impinge on the next fifteen minute slot.

There were nothing but giggles though, it was one of those magical days were everything went well, my mum and dad arrived and we were all ushered into an upstairs room, the ceremony began, and ended, very quickly.

It was back to the batcave for sandwiches.