All lined up and ready to go. Suits pressed and shirts ironed; cravats are adjusted and button-holes straightened. The photographer is lurking, taking unofficial snaps to complement the previously agreed formal shots that will punctuate the day for the next ten hours or so.
Seats are filled, low murmurs of comment and observation – of greeting and admonishment. The Groom waits, fidgeting despite his best intentions. Like any social being, he finds a special unspoken terror in being on display as a solitary entity. Even so, he consoles himself, the Bride will have it worse even in her moment of glory.
The Best Man approaches and talks quietly. The Groom’s shoulders relax. The Registrar enters the room and takes her place. Music swells from discrete speakers, swirling and calling for attention. It’s time.