Somewhere over the rainbow

Having visited 1973 a few weeks ago, Easter found me in Oz writes blogger Andy Toft.

Okay, I was actually at a wedding in Leicestershire - but eventually you’ll see where I’m coming from.

The bride - a mate of my girlfriend - and groom were blessed by the sunniest day of the year so far and a picture-perfect location for the reception - a hotel surrounded by some jaw-droppingly beautiful countryside.

But as spectacular as the view was I’m pretty sure many of us there couldn’t help our gaze wandering to what fellow guests were wearing.

This is always good sport because wedding attire is often like Christmas lunch - a bit too much of everything.

And so otherwise sane and rational women convince themselves those heels are not too high after all, the hat doesn’t make them look like Danny La Rue and the silk suit is the height of style rather than something that should be lining a coffin.

Then there are the blokes, who in the main, look as if they have been forced into a suit at gunpoint.

I had to doff my cap to one chap, who steadfastly refused to bow to convention, eschewing the suit in favour of a 70s style tank-top and patterned shirt combo.

Less really never is more at weddings.

So it was a major relief at breakfast the next morning when we all returned to our every-day attire.

And guess what? Shorn of our wedding costume, most of us looked a hell of a lot better and more at ease.

The transformation was just like that moment at the end of the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy awakes to find out see the Lion, Tin-Man and Scarecrow, as they really are - just ordinary Joes on the farm.