One of the guys giving a toast referred to the reception hall as “Bambi’s worst nightmare.” The hundreds of stag heads on the walls and ceiling were pretty awe-inspiring. It felt as if we should be raising chalices of mead to Beowulf or something. We came to Braemar to see Mary-Frances and Hamish finally tie the knot, 20 years after they first met. A bagpiper greeted us in front of the lovely stone church and we saw many a kilt filling the pews. Buses whisked us off to Mar Lodge for the party. Many ladies were wearing chiffon dresses, so I was worried that my head-to-toe woollen outfit didn’t look formal enough. Thank God I prepared for the cold because the reception hall had the insulation of a barn. I think it was barely 50 degrees inside. After dinner — which included Stornoway black pudding, which others informed me was the “nicest” black pudding in Scotland — the fiddle band set up and the ceilidh started. The band leader called out some of the moves, but it became clear that ceilidhs weren’t about rhythm or technical skill. All you needed was raucous enthusiasm!