Dreaming of Building Behind the East End Gallery

FOR SALE

COUNTRY COTTAGE

$320,000

FIFO Paradise, Retirees’ Dream, Ideal First Family Home

Features:

·        1 hour from Midland (Eastern suburb of Perth)

·        Cul de sac location 800 metres from Beverley Post Office

·        1 acre (4040 square metres)

·        Next to Avon River reserve and opposite crown land

·        Fully fenced

·        Two water tanks

·        Established and beautiful reticulated gardens with lawn  for kids and dogs

·        North facing house

·        Reverse cycle airconditioning in living room and main bedroom and efficient tile fire for winter warmth

·        Three bedrooms

·        Meals area

·        Front living room

·        Large renovated kitchen

·        Separate toilet

·        Renovated laundry with bench and overhead cupboards

·        Walk in pantry

·        Polished floorboards

·        Flyscreens throughout

·        Front porch

·        Back verandah

·        Two other brick paved areas

·        Two large powered sheds

We are remaining in Beverley and building on a smaller block. For more information –  e-mail katethegreat@amnet.net.au

Bedroom 2 or study

Bedroom 1

Bedroom 3

Front garden

Back garden east

Back garden west

My Musings on "Mental as..."

We are concluding Mental Health Week tomorrow. This is a chance to get involved, become aware, increase the community's knowledge about mental illness and reduce the stigma. Yes, I know. It's only one week. How much good does the media exposure actually achieve? What about the endless failings of the mental health system? And what about the one in two of us - that's right - the fifty percent of Australians who will experience mental illness in our lifetimes?

I have had a mental illness since my late teens. Michael's mental health broke down in 2010. I deliberately did not choose the term "suffer" (from a mental illness). Because my recurrent depression and associated anxiety are part of me. They manifest as the Black Dog, waiting to join with me when my guard is down. But the Black Dog is also responsible for teaching me more about me and my life. I always learn more after the Black Dog has snapped at my heels. I grant you, these are not pleasant episodes.

I had a major depressive episode earlier this year. I have no idea what triggered this latest descent into the well. My mood just moved lower and lower, very quickly. I was distraught, confused, frightened and alone. I was terrified Michael would leave me. I was sure I would have to be admitted to hospital. From the sanctuary of my dining table, I sent a distress call to Perth Clinic, a private psychiatric hospital and centre. Fortunately, I managed to get an appointment to see a new psychiatrist relatively quickly.

She turned out to be extraordinarily compassionate and empathetic and intelligent and witty. And expensive. This is one of the huge issues facing people who are mentally ill. Access to affordable, quality care in a short timeframe. We just charged her consult to our credit card.

Over the next six months, she took both Michael and me in hand. She sorted our medications very efficiently and smoothed out most side effects and problems.She was also an excellent therapist, offering us suggestions and alternatives to all our mental health issues. And last week, we graduated from her care.

This was such cause for celebration. The appointments with her came in the middle of a very hectic day in the Big Smoke, but we were still stoked. She just reminded us to refer our GP to her reports if we needed a review.

So, the Black Dog is currently sleeping. I am pretty sure that I will continue to experience return visits by the Black Dog. Michael may too. Each time, my recovery is a little better, a little stronger. I am so bloody grateful for that. I hope to become more aware of warning signs. The Black Dog may be my shadow, but I hope to keep "nipping" its influence in the bud.

Which brings me back to "Mental As". The lack of services, the waiting lists, the damage to lives, the effects on families and the agony that is mental illness is horrendous. But in the midst of all this, there is some good.

We watched "Changing Minds" a three-part series focusing on Mark Cross, a psychiatrist and the locked mental health units at Campbelltown Hospital in Sydney.  The stories were funny, insightful, tragic, harrowing and riveting. The main theme was young people living with mental illness, their triumphs, their sadness and their individual circumstances. This was not easy television to watch. The programmes brought up thoughts and feelings in us both. But, we were grateful to have watched "Changing Minds". There are times we feel very isolated. This week, during "Mental As", we were part of a much broader community.

There is no perfect solution. There will probably never be sufficient services. The system will continue to fail the vulnerable. But, if nothing else, "Mental As" week took me off the couch and wondering about others, who are like me. Who also have a mental illness.

Many thanks to the ABC, "Changing Minds" and Mark Cross. Please keep up the good work.

The Black Dog visiting...

fighting the blackness...

thank you, ABC...

and my mantra to remember, particularly when I'm unwell.

From Klutz to Curator (wish me luck)

Being the face (and the mouth) of the East End Gallery has resulted in a steep learning curve for me during the last ten months. I love being in the Gallery. I love its history, its atmosphere, the artworks and our band of fantastic artists who have supported us, had faith in us, believed in us and the Gallery.

But sometimes this role is challenging, even daunting. I have never worked in any other position like this. Cleaner, steak knife salesman, data operator (which I loathed), optical receptionist, aged carer and education assistant have been some of my paid jobs. Parent, advocate, and autism contact dominated my life over the last twenty-five years. Now I suppose I am the East End Gallery curator. Every time I even think of the word "curator" I tend to look around for the person in charge. Then I realise that it's me!

I know the artworks. I know our artists. I have created a catalogue. I have mastered the EFTPOS terminal, much to my surprise. We have worked hard to present the Gallery as a welcoming place for all our visitors, where you can share a cup of tea and a muffin with me, sit in one of our tub chairs or the couch, read the weekend papers, the Beverley Blarney and enjoy the art and space. We are forty-five square metres away from renovating the entire three hundred and ninety square metre building. I am so proud of our achievement, particularly since Michael and Gary have been the primary renovators since the beginning.

So, I am confident about certain aspects of this job. Except, it's not just a job. There is pride and passion and enthusiasm and love. I can easily express myself on some levels. Where I've had difficulties is when a visitor asks me a curly question such as "Is that painting done with oils or acrylics?" or "How has that photograph been taken?". There have been times I've bluffed my way through my ignorance or admitted I haven't a clue.

I've improved my knowledge. I  also decided I needed to improve my appearance, to look like a  Gallery co-owner and manager. If I'm going to pretend to be a curator, then I have to look the part. So I visited "Lucky Find" up Vincent Street and bought three new dresses for summer - a uniform of sorts. No more joggers.

It's alright for Michael - he's the metal artist and chief renovator, so he can slop around in jeans and a tee shirt, which usually end up with welding burn holes in them. He likes to disappear into his workshop, where he can produce more of our spiders or work on his new sculpture "Unhinged". I'll let you all into a secret, though...he will be so pleased to finish the renovation of the building. He is over it.

So, my first day in a frock, I arrived at the Gallery, juggling my bag, computer bag and two containers of cupcakes. Somehow, on my brand new clean dress, I smeared vanilla icing across the front. Beautiful. I was trying so hard not to look like a dag.

Sponging the mess off, I relieved Michael who had opened. We then had quite a busy day, with visitors and friends dropping in. One of whom was Mandy Evans. Mandy is a great girl and a really talented artist. She had also studied web design and installation at uni. She knows lots of useful information, all of which is currently gobbledegook to me.

So, Mandy's taking me in hand. I hope to learn new computer skills, like how to link websites to Facebook and my blog and the Gallery and our Gallery page. She showed me how to schedule posts on the East End Gallery Facebook page. I have also explained that I need idiot proof instructions. I fear that this could be a long slow process...

And my quest continues - opening the Gallery without any icing on my dress!

dag in the Gallery (sexy flannelette shirt)

dag in my garden ( with seasol and vino)

better look for the Gallery

this is as close to a diva as I get!

How to Maintain Self-Worth in the Face of Lies, Hypocrisy And Insanity.

One of our favourite television programmes is "Utopia". This depicts a fictional government department called Nation Building Australia, led by the hapless Tony, his merry band of misfits, enthusiastic but completely ignorant advisors, a public relations manager named Rhonda (who is utterly believable) and Tony's only ally, Nat, who is trying to create a smooth and effective workplace out of total anarchy. Needless to say, no project is ever quite launched successfully, as the staff are at the whim of other bureaucrats and politicians who change their minds as often as I drink a decent glass of vino...

This show is both hysterically funny and cringeworthy at the same time. Why? Because "Utopia" is so close to the truth of how large organisations and institutions actually function, In this surreal world of discussion papers, focus groups, community involvement, strategic planning, independent reviews (what a joke) and responsible actions that are supposedly fair and unbiased, the employees of these agencies have their hands tied, their functions are bizarre and their operations inconsistent and often outrageous.

Recently, the operator of a cruise company in the North West was given advice by a government official; to sack his Australian staff and employ overseas workers instead. The relevant legislation, in this case, is an unwieldy farce, which is why the cruise company operator was given such feedback. He was aghast and contacted the media. The government public relations team swung into action and called this man a liar. Which he wasn't. Which was finally admitted, quietly. And the fall guy was some poor sod who was attempting to offer a solution within unworkable laws.

This week, the United States has been called to account for bombing a Doctors Without Borders hospital in Afganistan. In their scramble to avoid blame, their PR machine immediately launched into overdrive. Their story as to how the hospital came under attack changed four times in four days. But an admission of guilt? An apology? God forbid that these responses be actually voiced. And once again, some poor bastard will be blamed, disappear and be treated as a pariah. Until the story blows over and we forget.

Which brings me to an interesting observation - how to maintain our self-esteem in the presence of downright lies, hazy or fudged rules, laws or guidelines and a system that protects the powerful and thus, ignores, punishes or denounces the ordinary ones amongst us, denying us any form of justice.

Those of you who read my blog know the story of Michael's hospital admissions for bilateral pneumonia in April 2014. An overnight stay and the appointment of a respiratory specialist one week. Michael's rapid deterioration and our fears when we discovered this specialist was on leave. Our GP's assurance that Michael would be treated at an alternative hospital under an alternative specialist. who happened to be head of department in a Perth private hospital. We were so relieved and arrived at Admissions at this hospital clutching a letter from our GP requesting fluids and oxygen straight away.

We assumed we were saved. And, as I have an adult son, who has undergone about twenty surgical procedures, in a variety of hospitals, including three very satisfactory stays in this hospital, I automatically felt more in control and at ease.

Which is when the hospital stay started going pear shaped. We were not seen by the specialist and his team of minions for four hours after admission. Michael was not given fluids or oxygen during this time "because the doctor hadn't seen him". The specialist turned out to be the kind of arrogant little man who I thought had become an extinct dinosaur within the hospital system. At this stage, I didn't care, as long as Michael became better.

Then the inconsistencies began unfolding. A nurse who couldn't install Michael's IV (his veins were collapsing) and insisted nurses were not allowed to install an IV above the patient's hand. An impatient registrar who installed the drip and ordered me out of Michael's room, mistaking my terror and frustration for anger and accused me of dragging her away from other patients. Then changes of three IV antibiotics in three days, one change happening by phone from the specialist. Then Michael's liver function became abnormal and I was told by one of the registrars this was being caused by the IV antibiotic. And that he couldn't be given regular IV panadol because of his liver function deterioration.

The list went on. A visit from a dietician that never materialised into any changes for Michael. My report that Michael was having difficulty urinating was never recorded. Sloppy nursing practice - a sharp was dropped on the ground next to Michael's bed. This was quietly disposed of when I eventually brought it to a nurses's attention.

I had two meeting with nurse managers - one on 13 April and the next on the 14 April. By this time, I was very unhappy with our treatment and Michael was not responding well. On 14 April, he became increasingly disoriented and was hallucinating due to his fever. I discovered that the drug Michael was receiving was not on the PBS and was expensive. We had not given financial consent for this drug.

I requested a hospital transfer on 14 April as I had ascertained Michael's original specialist was back from leave. The hospital and doctors were aware of this request. As we battled on, I became frightened that Michael was going to die. He was dehydrated, febrile and unable to sit up himself. I begged the nursing staff all that awful day to send for the specialist.

He waltzed into Michael's room and turned his back on me after he'd informed us he would continue the antibiotic that I had been told, by his registrar, was affecting Michael's liver. I literally saw red and ordered the pack of them out of the room. We were given no discharge information, in spite of asking for a medical summary. Clutching only Michael's original x-rays, we set out to return to Joondalup Health Campus.

We spent  a further two weeks in hospital. Michael was very sick. The staff were superb. Recognising the extent of his dehydration and fever, he received a rapid induction of fluids and IV panadol as soon as he was admitted. Antibiotics were started, we were both consulted by the Emergency team and we were moved up to the ward as soon as possible. From being in a fog of scant information and woeful treatment, I felt we'd been delivered to paradise.

The HBF hospital representative urged me to complain in writing about the other specialist. He had apparently been the object of numerous verbal complaints. She advised me to contact HADSCO - the Health and Disability Services Complaints Office. All I stated I wanted was a written apology from the other hospital, the specialist and an assurance that my concerns would be treated with respect. My primary focus was that no other patient should endure what had happened to Michael.

First brick wall. HADSCO could not compel the specialist "to participate in the process". So in June 2014, I wrote to AHPRA - the Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency. I listed ten desired outcomes, including a written apology by the  specialist. I was repeatedly advised, in writing, that AHPRA would attend to my complaint, but that this would be a long process.

They were not joking. I have just received the official report of the completed investigation. As AHPRA "work closely with the Medical Board of Australia", an independent response to my complaint immediately shot out the window.  There will be no regulatory action taken.

In short, here are the Board's findings and I am summarising -

• the specialist didn't respond to me as I was not the patient. You know, the old privacy issues line that prohibits me from speaking on his behalf
• that Michael was attended to "within a reasonable period"
• he was assessed within forty-five minutes of arrival (not by a doctor) - lie
• he was seen by the specialist and his team at 15.40 - that is a blatant lie
• that the nursing assessment undertaken for hypoxia did not indicate Michael required oxygen. Then why did we arrive with a GP's letter stating he needed oxygen. Also, the original nurse clearly stated Michael could not receive oxygen until he'd been seen by the doctor - lie 
• that information supplied by the registrar regarding Michael's liver function had been a "misunderstanding" - lie. I know what I was told
• that the specialist has apologised for prescribing the non-PBS drug without our consent - to whom? Certainly not us
• that the specialist rang Joondalup health Campus, but there is no record of this call (!)
• that Michael's medical records "were freely available". The notes just weren't released with us
• that the specialist "does not appear to pose an ongoing risk to the public"
• the Board's decision is final
• and they will keep this information on file, in case there are "any concerns raised about Dr ...... in the future".

What a stunning outcome. We waited sixteen months for this illuminating reply. No independence, no transparency, no evidence. And, obviously, I must be a liar or just seriously misguided to have raised such a complaint in the first place.

Welcome to "Utopia". I considered sending this post to AHPRA for their perusal and comment. But what would be the point? They are another toothless tiger, bound by secrecy, mountains of red tape and extraordinary practices all designed to prevent any change to the status quo.

And how am I maintaining my self-esteem in the face of such nonsense? Because I told the truth.

View from Michael's hospital window at Joondalup Health Campus April 2014

 

A simple mater of...

telling the truth...

 

being patient and waiting...

and waiting, whilst on leave from ward H4 at Joondalup Health Campus November 2014...

and waiting, when back again...Joondalup Health Campus August 2015...

FOR...

 a load of claptrap!

However, ending on a positive note, here is an affectionate and grateful tribute to Michael's ongoing specialist. Whom we hope not to see in the near future!

The Beverley Heroic Rides Again

In 2014, some maniac named Toby Hodgson proposed to resurrect the spirit of a bike race that began in Beverley in 1897 and continued until 1999. The original Rover Road Race was renamed the Beverley to Perth Race and then eventually shortened to The Beverley. This was a gruelling event over bone shaking gravel roads and a test of the endurance and insanity of those early bicyclists.

Enter Toby. His brain wave was to retag the event as The Beverley Heroic and have three separate bike rides on the same day - Beverley to Northam and back, with a six thirty start (ye Gods!), Beverley to York and back and a ten kilometre ride around Beverley town. The first Heroic was held a year ago in atrocious weather - cold, wet and windy. But the riders came. And they had a blast of a day. Toby even grew a handlebar moustache for the occasion.

Fast forward to The Heroic 2015. Toby altered his attire this year to elegant country gentleman, complete with a cravat and riding jacket. The event was spread over Saturday and Sunday, starting with a retro bike display and competition, a bicycle movie show and culminating in Sunday Afternoon Tea and the Presentation.

Beverley has been jumping all weekend. The weather was completely opposite to last year - warm, sunny and breezy. Even though I am not a bike rider, I think conditions have been perfect. We've had young riders, old riders, vintage clothed riders, moustachioed and bearded riders. All have been connected by the joy of the open road, the wind in their faces and the thrill of the ride. I've watched the riders zooming past the Gallery throughout the day. All I've seen is big smiles on faces, particularly from the kids. Brilliant.

And we've had lots of visitors in the Gallery as well. Not just those attending the Heroic either. We have been host to several groups who had been at the Kulin Races, as well as day-trippers from Northam and Perth and Jarrahdale.

The Beverley Heroic is over for another year. What a great day. Thank you again, Toby Hodgson, you are a star.

And to everyone who participated in the Heroic over the weekend, I hope you had a marvellous time and see you next year!

The Beverley Heroic Website

Those magnificent men on their riding machines, out for

a bicycling adventure...

beginning at the Beverly Town Hall...

for Heroic Bicyclists...

of all ages and abilities!

Trust Michael to Attract These Nasty Little Suckers...

I am used to being in somewhat compromising situations.  I seem to find myself in compromising situations far more often than I'd hope...Do I suffer from foot in mouth disease? Do I leap before I look? Or do I just have to respond to challenges in ways that defy reason or explanation?

Take Michael's latest encounter with ticks. These hitchhikers were picked up at Chittering Acres, whilst attending the Steampunk wedding of the century. Chittering has been home to cattle, who harbour ticks and then LOVE abandoning ship onto Michael's luscious belly. For some reason, ticks are irresistibly attracted to his body.

This has been an ongoing issue since I first met Michael. When we were still living in the Big Smoke, we would escape to a bush block just north of Perth as often as possible. Michael was one of a group of shareholders who had bought into two hundred acres of land at Wanerie. Part of the area had been cleared and was ideal cattle country. The rest was bush, complete with kangaroos and other native animals. And lots of ticks.

I became used to removing them by the bucketload off Michael's delicate torso. The burrowing little bastards would cause discomfort after a few hours of latching onto his body. We tried all sort of techniques to thwart them. Eventually, we hit upon smothering them until they let go and could be discarded. This was achieved with the nifty use of vaseline and a band-aid over the tick. Worked like a charm.

So, there we were, headed for our first night in the Goldfields when Michael felt the unmistakable and annoying niggle of a tick attaching itself to him. In the haste to set up our camp at Karalee dam before dark, we were temporarily able to ignore the horrid little creature.  And we were tired.

The tick caused Michael to have a most miserable night's sleep. In the morning, it had to be dispatched. No vaseline, but we did have a jar of Vicks Vaporub on board. I dabbed a sizable blob of the stuff on top of the tick and covered it with the band-aid. After packing up, we were on the road again towards Coolgardie and breakfast at the servo.

This treatment certainly gave the tick something else to think about. Michael noted that it was definitely moved by the experience and we had high hopes it would release its hold on Michael very soon.

At Coolgardie, we ate our fill and took full advantage of the divine and spotless bathroom facilities. Unfortunately, the bloody tick was given a reprieve as most of the Vicks was washed off during Michael's enthusiastic showering.

Which is why, halfway through our day's driving, I found myself with my head in Michael's lap...The tick had firmly reattached itself on Michael's tummy once again. I have no idea why we didn't stop by the side of the road to attend to it once more.

The Vicks was sourced from the glovebox. The new band-aid was taken from our medical kit. Then, displaying my physical prowess for the entire highway to see, I lay across Michael, pulled up his shirt, removed the saturated band-aid, smeared a glob of Vicks on the tick's backside and applied the fresh, dry band-aid. Whilst I was carrying out this process, we were passed by a roadtrain. We were driving along, Michael with a smile of relief on his face whilst I had my head in his lap...Beautiful.

Like it or not, I'd cracked the big time of compromising situations. I expect the truckie has had a field day reporting on two grey nomads trundling along in a faded green Jackaroo partaking in some surreptitious afternoon delight.

What the hell. Adventure before dementia!

And then we discovered the second tick...

In the beginning, there was Wanerie...and ticks...

and swags...

and birthday parties in the bush...

Michael at his thinnest with Lucky, his Dad...

some random woman trying to get a tick...

camping now involves our queen sized stretcher bed, inflatable mattress and lots of cuddling...

in places like Karalee dam, where the first tick from Chittering made itself known!

The Steampunk Wedding That Rocked!

Steampunk is a genre I had never heard of until Gina and Andrew invited us to their wedding. The timing was perfect for us. We were already planning a trip to the Goldfields during September, so we just used their wedding as our launching pad for our main expedition.

I understood that Steampunk had elements of fantasy and science fiction with lots of industrial revolution gadgets, goggles and guns. Waistcoats, cogs, bustles and outrageous hats were also in the mix. What I was unprepared for was the sheer wizardry and creativity of the wedding guests, the bride and groom, the celebrant and her husband and even the attending children.

We had an absolute blast. We rocked up twenty-four hours early for a very specific reason. I am the most unpunctual woman on the planet. Michael is the most unpunctual man on the planet. We are always quite astonished when we arrive at a destination more or less on time. Hence our anxiety to actually make an early appearance in proceedings.

Chittering Acres had been in a state of high excitement for several days. People were everywhere, efficiently participating in final preparations. We retired to the "camping ground" and set up our gazebo. We enjoyed a casual BBQ that evening with a variety of other guests, who had come in from all over Australia and the world. I knew one other person there - my friend Punya - who I hadn't seen for about fifteen years. The common denominator was Gina and Andrew and we became instant friends with everyone.

The wedding day dawned. We had an incredibly lazy morning. We presented Gina and Andrew with their  present, one of Michael's redback spider fridge magnets. Magda was promptly delivered to the compost loo and deposited as a mascot on one of the corrugated iron walls. We also gave them a deceased microwave oven and a departed printer to take apart and use in their Steampunk art. What more could any bride and groom want?

We showered and started the transformation into Steampunk wedding guests. We had decorated our hats with al manner of metal objects. Michael was the man in black, except for an exceedingly fetching waistcoat I had bought in a Northam op shop.

I had a calf length black skirt, polished steel capped boots, black fishnet stockings, a frilly blouse, a denim waistcoat and my hat, of course. I had created a utility belt which was decorated with a red flower fascinator, my goggles, gloves and a bit of leather and metal I found in Gina's costume pile.

The paved area outside their studio and their pop up Steampunk lounge rapidly filled with people as the afternoon shadows lengthened. A good friend and singer, Tracey, had somehow organised a gospel choir on the day of the wedding. The two male members had only been amalgamated into the group that afternoon and learnt the songs with about five minutes to spare.

The studio was the site for the official wedding feast and guests were  adding their offerings. We all started nibbling! The food was delicious and varied and of stupendous proportions. Nobody was going to starve. And the wine was flowing even before the ceremony.

Which was perfect. Andrew and Gina declared their love and commitment to each other. There was cheering and clapping and whistling and hooting. More songs by the choir. Then Gina and Andrew sang to each other. Andrew had been practicing for weeks in the paddocks on his tractor. Gina didn't need to practise, as her voice took my breath away. Clear, sensual, throaty and filled with love for Andrew. This was absolutely electric. The guests roared their approval.

Speeches followed, including a hilarious tale by Andrew's dad, when he revealed the daunting fact that Andrew had demonstrated mad scientist tendencies as a small boy. He and Ann, Andrew's mother had then contemplated how they would bring up this eccentric and gifted young man.

Dinah, Gina's mum, had been shivering in her boots as she'd come down from Darwin, with her partner, universally known as Gina's "spare dad", prior to the nuptials. She paid tribute to her fantastically talented daughter. We thought that Andrew and Gina were a match made in artistic heaven.

The official Steampunk firepit was lit at dusk. This was most appreciated as the evening cooled off rapidly. Eventually, we'd had the bomb and retired to the camping ground. We sat around our little fire to warm up before bed. I have no idea if the bride and groom slept at all on their wedding night.

The following morning was time for us to pack up and leave for the rest of our trip. We didn't hurry. Unfortunately, Michael's brand new Captain's chair flipped into the fire and the totally synthetic material melted quite spectacularly. We left yet another corpse with the happy couple!

We did leave with a couple of unwelcome hitchhikers. For some reason, Michael's body is absolutely irresistible to bush ticks. He picked up not one, but two of the biting little buggers from Chittering Acres. I am sure nobody else was even sniffed by a tick.

If spite if this ever so slight misfortune, we would not have missed Andrew and Gina's Steampunk wedding for the world. We had so much fun. And I now know how to construct a bustle out of a shirt or two. For the next Steampunk event, my costume with be busier, with an enormous bustle and more metallic baubles. With proper Steampunk goggles!

The Beverley Hillbillies attempting Steampunk fashion...

Punya needed Roger, our motorbike, to complete the look...

the groom...

the bride (on right)...

the bride's mum and the groom's daughter...

the groom...

the bridal party. The groom's mum and dad are on the right. His mum is the aviatrix and his dad is the casually Steampunked geezer standing away from the rest of the crowd...

the choir...

the bride. on the point of marriage...

did you ever see a more besotted couple?!