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UPFRONT:THE SOMETHING OLD was Lisnavagh House, an ivy-laced Gothic revival mansion in Co Carlow, with beds four-postered and canopied and vast, iron baths deep as rowboats, and side tables laden with ancient artefacts. Our weekend impersonation of landed gentry was assisted by Lisnavagh’s actual owners, the gracious William and Emily Bunbury, who ghosted around behind us, making sure the log fires were roaring and the kettle was always on.

We were married in the library, all wood panels and leather spines, sink-in sofas and that wicker wheelchair that turned out to be everyone’s favourite. For the ceremony, it was standing-room only, and our best wedding marshal (for yes, there were officially appointed wedding marshals – guests forced into high-vis jackets and given the task of shepherding the rest around) had to call out in his booming voice as we squeezed in: “Make way for the bride and groom!”