Weddings leave me cold, but I could n't stand up and say why. I can't answer that. I can struggle towards a sense of irritation, even vexation about the whole business and that's about it. Yet, and is n't there always an "and yet", they are compelling, and in a particular way, magical; not the fairytale notion, the top hat and tails, bride and groom galloping away on fine Arab chargers thing, far from it.

The context of magic I've got firmly in mind is what the randomness of a wedding reception seating plan can throw up. The meal begins as a tableau of mysterious people sat next to each other, little words spoken, but clear signs of the titanic struggle to break the social ice etched across all faces.

Let's call it the wedding reception equivalent of global warming, but compare the scene a few hours later: intimate conversations about odd little medical afflictions, whilst someone else melts into a neighbouring shoulder, surreptitiously arranging a date, (it's happened. I know. I've done it. Difficult for those who know me to believe, but I have. Send me an e-mail and I'll say who).

All of them are possible, if not actually probable. Still, let's not forget the third leg of the stool: the intellectual conversation, I spent a very pleasant afternoon yesterday chatting about local Suffolk geology, the correct use of a chainsaw, rare water beetles, the pain of having tattoos done on the shin, and the benefits of working a four day week. All that from a wedding reception dinner. Marvellous.