Well, what a weekend. Broilingly hot, gorgeous blue skies, and me stuffed into a suit and tie for a wedding in Bristol.

It was the marriage of my great-nephew Tim, whom I’ve met four or five times in his life, with Jessie Crawley, now of course Mrs Tim Lees.

But first I packed into the Golden Lion in Ringtone (or was that Wrington) with 200 other passionate Lions supporters to watch the British & Irish Lions demolish the hapless Australians. It was amazing to hear fervent England supporters bellowing for Welshman George North, and when he scored, the hefty prop sitting next to me at the bar picked up his mate and hung him over his shoulder, clearly now a George trademark after what he did to Israel Folau in the second test. Having turned up without any money, the wonderful landlord Phil tabbed me until Von came to my rescue at the end of the match, and provided a sausage and bacon bap at half time as well. What a great pub! What a great landlord! How good did I feel?

So after a few pints of Butcombes I was prepared for any wedding. I was a little apprehensive about this one because I barely know the family. They grew up on the other side of London in a self-contained unit, and as I’m aggressively hermitical the opportunities to meet were few.

But what I’ve missed! You guys were amazing! You guys were great! The young men were courteous and handsome, the young women were polite and pretty. Not a tattoo in sight. You guys were all Christians. Now I’m an old-school Anglican, and blatant testimonials and manifestations of faith are uncomfortable for me. You guys were waving your hands in the air during the service. How embarrassing. Then one of you guys got up and made a speech about you guys in which he mentioned ‘a bloke called Solomon’. I managed to stifle a scream. But you guys loved it, and more of you guys joined in to talk about you guys and say lovely things about you guys.

Then I saw on the service sheet that the Sisters Of The Bride were going to perform ‘At Last’. I cringed inwardly. Surely not the Etta James classic? Etta was a big black lady wit’ soul. The Sisters Of The Bride were thin white duchesses. It was going to be Awful. I hunkered down in my seat, already scarlet with embarrassment (I always do this) …

… and — I. Was. Blown. Away.

Mo Crawley, Tallulah Crawley and Minnie Crawley were astounding. If they could be bothered to enter tripe like The Voice or The X Factor or Britain’s Got Talent, they would walk it. It was a real Susan Boyle moment. I sat there with my jaw dropped as these little girls — three voices and a guitar — laid waste to all my preconceptions about white girls singing black music. At the end of the number, the Crawley sisters owned ‘At Last’. You guys were unfortunate not to have been there.

Then Jonty Lees, Sarah Lees, Laura Barnes and Daniel Mørken performed and sang ‘Amazing Grace’. You guys were amazingly good.

In the evening we had a sit-down dinner for over 200 people in a barn at the Crawley’s farm in Somerset. It was delicious. The family’s pet pig, Saucy, had sacrificed herself to the hog roast, and she was delicious. What an unsentimental lot we were, and no one pays any attention to Deuteronomy 14:8 any more.

Of course the payback was that we then had to sit through the speeches. First up was Silas Crawley (great name) who was Jessie’s father and also the pastor of the Hope Chapel in Bristol where the wedding had taken place. Here we go. Another dad being fulsome about his daughter.

And he was. In the funniest, tenderest, kindest, most loving way, he painted a picture of his daughter that had me weeping with laughter and weeping with emotion. I’m Welsh. I do a lot of weeping. Silas was amazing, you guys. I was sitting two rows from Jessie’s back and I could swear I saw her wings sprouting. If ever a father’s love and pride shone through, this was it.

Before I had time to dab my eyes, my great-nephew Tim was on his feet talking about his new bride. Now we have a five year old Golden Retriever called Milo who happens to be exceptionally handsome — a lady came up to him in Crouch End the other day and declared him to the the George Clooney of Golden Retrievers — but inside his gorgeous exterior he is the essence of evil; black as sin. Tim’s bride Jessie is also gorgeous — I would go so far as to say she is beautiful, if that’s not too sexist — but apparently this is not a front for a vile, malevolent half-wit. She is intelligent, kind and funny, caring, gentle, generous (I wanted to be sick, but I carried on listening) and I began to realise that these guys meant every word. She really was a paragon of all the human virtues. Lucky Tim! He delivered his speech with such disarming sincerity that because he believed every word he said, so did we.

I was still shaking my head in wonder when up on the stage bounded two more of my great-nephews, Jonty and James, joint best men. With Jonty on guitar they laid into their brother Tim with gusto. They rocked, they rapped, they made us roar with laughter. What a talent you guys are!

It was quite wonderful, the best wedding I’ve attended in years. You guys were great. We cleared off before the dancing — who wants a drunken great-uncle gyrating on the dance floor? — and left you guys to it. Well done you guys, we had a ball.

Just one thing, you guys — do you think you guys might be saying You Guys a little bit too much?

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