‘Plumb in some toilets. I’ll put up some fairy lights – we’ve just got ourselves a wedding venue’ - Susan Morrison

Obviously, it’s a cleaned out byre.

You can’t be standing there in all your finery up to your kitten heels in coo poo.

And the last thing you want whilst the vows are being exchanged, apart from his ex-girlfriend showing up with a set of suspiciously groom-like twins, is a farmer clanking in to do the milking.

No, these are farm buildings past their use-by dates.

The farmers of Scotland are a smart bunch, but I’m willing to put good money on it being the Scottish farmers’ wives who took one look at their old barn and said, “it’s got a great view, plenty of room and masses of space for parking. Murdo, get Ermintrude and her pals out of there.

“Plumb in some toilets. I’ll put up some fairy lights – we’ve got ourselves a wedding venue.”

And jolly lovely it was, too.

There are many advantages to a countryside wedding. I had quite forgotten just how energetic young folk are at such events. Positively exhausting.

All that fresh air, for one thing. And the booze, I suppose. There was plenty of space for them to run around and let the lads twirl about in their kilts.

Now that I’m officially old and batty, I get to sit in the comfy seats watching the goings-on and trying to work out whose wedding we’ll be at next.

Come on, there’s always another one. Something about weddings turns young folks’ heads. I blame the cake. They get a rush from the combination of dried fruit, sugar and, especially, the marzipan.

They’re not used to it, you see.

Young people these days are all about dainty pastries and organic biscuits. One slice of a traditional Scottish wedding cake goes straight to the brain.

One hit and they’re hooked. They know they want more and the only way they think they can get it is to have another wedding.

The dancing went great guns, but it is sad to note the demise of both the Birdy Dance and the Slosh at these functions.

The second was always good for hilarity, since it’s basically a line dance with the added complications of squiffy Scots, which would inevitably lead to a collision of friends and relations on the dancefloor when one lot turned left and another turned right.

Many’s the time two aunts have been conjoined at the fascinator until some emergency untangling surgery can be performed in the ladies.

It was a great wedding in a spectacular setting for an incredibly beautiful bride. There was a groom, obviously, but he’d basically done the job just by turning up. He looked fine.

Scotland’s fickle weather played a blinder. Yes, I know we should all be worried about global warming and the planet being on fire, but just for one day in June, I stopped worrying about the melting ice caps and breathed a sigh of relief that my young friends had had a stunning day.

The cows were lowing as I left. They sounded sad. Perhaps Ermintrude and her pals would have liked to have been witnesses to a very happy wedding after all.