Though I still can't fully convince myself of this even as I type it, my sister is Mrs Robertson now. It's on Facebook and everything. Now they're on their way down to England to spend a hopefully relaxing honeymoon after all the organization (including about five hours of being made up and hairdressed in the morning) and we have a few more days in Scotland.

The wedding was in the chapel at St Andrews, where we'd all attended university (a thought-provokingly distant time ago, for many of us...) with a reception at a hotel just outside the town. Particularly immediately after coming back to the country after three years away, it was strange to see many people who I had grown up with and hadn't seen in many years. The family from Germany had come over with their children - when we saw each other last, our main topic of discussion was Thomas the Tank Engine, and now we're talking about Germany's participation in the European Union.

No matter how you do it, twelve hours is an ambitious length of time for a wedding. By the time dinner was over I was falling asleep in the custard, but got a second wind of energy just when I needed it when Scotch tablet was handed out after the dessert. The three children(!) of the family friend at the table who was a 16-year-old student when I first met her got their first taste of it here, and in the classically literal German style they chose to call it "Zuckerbutter butterzucker".

After that, the dancefloor was cleared and the band set themselves up. I can't seem to dance nearly as well as I used to, and I don't mean in remembering the steps because ceilidhs are more about bumping into each other and falling into a heap anyway - but when I was in university I used to go to them whenever I could largely because it was by far the most effective way to pick up girls, and now it's completely exhausting. With a constant supply of water from the bar, Whitney and I could get up for about one dance in every three.

Nonetheless, Whitney and I may have to face that there may have been a wedding at least as good as ours now, because this one had both a ceilidh and an attainable cake. We've only realized in recent years that absolutely nobody who attended our wedding had any cake - I know that we went to the front of the hall and cut into it, but then it was trolleyed off and we never saw it again. This time, it was served as part of the 10 o'clock buffet on top of the five or so courses that had already taken place. A few more hours dancing later, with everyone overflowing with IRN-BRU and sausage rolls, the bar closed, I ferried people home in the car, and then at 2am, we went to bed.

Now I've got the ghost of constant accordion music following me around in my head like in a Professor Layton game.