Okay so the plan was to get you a photo of me and Giles cutting the wedding cake. But the thing is that someone texted the photo to me and I can't work out how to get it off my phone (even though I've got all the appropriate cables) and onto this blog.
So no photos until the photographer - an upsettingly handsome young man called Roo - has deleted all the ones of me looking huge-toothed and red-faced and sent both useable photos to me. This is a shame as I bored you all to death so comprehensively with the wedding that I felt the very least I could do was to offer some kind of exclusive footage.
Anyway it all went very well. I told Giles that he was strictly not to use the word c*** or f*** in his speech, which meant he only used both words once.
Now, after a very, very tense half an hour looking for my passport, I'm going to pack for my honeymoon Greece, where the weather appears to be 16C and drizzling - but you can't have it all.
But before that, we are going for lunch at L'Artista, the pizza place under the Golders Green tube station railway bridge where Giles and I first met.
The carbs are back. Hooray!