Now that I’ve had time to go through my photographs, I thought I would include a few of the Abbaye de la Celle in Brignoles, where we will stay after our wedding in September.

Our rather tired looking Renault Clio with missing door trim looked right at home next to the Ferrari in the parking lot. I had to point out to the porter that the Ferrari wasn’t ours…

Aude clearly approves of her surroundings!

Frankly, he looks as shocked at his own behaviour as we were… After a few drinks, I was tempted to challenge him to a duel — until Aude suggested that we might not be welcomed back afterwards.

Hostellerie de l’Abbaye de la Celle

Aude poses in front of the fountain

Photo opportunities abound. Matt in front of the same fountain.

The reception room inside the old abbey.

Matt & Aude in the gardens

Matt on the lawn outside the hotel room

Aude on the lawn outside the hotel room

The hotel comes complete with old world charm. Or should that be olde worlde charme?

More old world charm. Or someone’s spent too much time at Pottery Barn…

Saturday morning we were up early to visit the town hall in Roquebrune, where we need to submit all of our paperwork for our civil ceremony. Part of the process is an interview with the mayor (or his delegate) to ensure that the marriage is genuine and to go over all the details for the day.

We were met by the adjunct mayor, a generously proportioned woman with an apparent predilection for sunshine and a disdain for soap. She was our first real brush with the French etat, and represented everything that is bad about the civil service in France. With little genuine power but a keen desire to demonstrate her importance, she decided to throw impediment after impediment in our way. “I’m not sure it’s possible” was her favourite response, and her interpretation of the laws governing marriage changed with the wind.

It was not the most positive meeting I’ve ever had. She seemed unimpressed when I asked whether it would be easier to elope to Las Vegas. I suspect Guantanamo detainees are treated with more respect than she afforded us.

The trauma of the town hall behind us, we headed to a much more agreeable lunch by the port in Frejus – moules frites washed down with a couple of beers. After a brief stop to look at some decorations for the wedding, we were off to Brignoles for a quick chat with the woman coordinating the details at the chateau and a champagne tasting – and then on to ‘test drive’ the hotel and restaurant at the Abbaye de la Celle.

The hotel was absolutely beautiful, with genuinely warm service and a lovely room with our own private garden. We were greeted with two glasses of wine from the vineyard in the back. After we’d settled in, we went into the Alain Ducasse restaurant and had a lovely dinner of asparagus with kumquat sauce, grilled fish with roast potatoes, caramelised pork with stir-fried vegetables, cheese, and a chocolate fondant. The food lived up to the hype – it was a lovely evening. Stuffed to the seams, we trundled off to bed.

My parents are on their way home as I write this blog, having spent just over a week here in Canterbury with me. It was a full trip, with sightseeing in the UK, a short day trip to France and Belgium, and lots of time for socialising. It was also the when we broke the news to them about our engagement.

Nick has been working in London for the past few months and Dasha was able to come over to visit him for an extended weekend break. As is the normal custom at my house, we celebrated Thanksgiving on last Saturday of November (because everyone is busy working on Thursday), but this was the first time I’ve had the family around my table for the day. It was really nice, and I managed to get my camera out to snap a few photos of the evening.

Dasha & Nick at my place for Thanksgiving

My father, captivated by one of Aude’s stories. A work of fiction, I’m sure…

My mother notices something on Aude’s finger

Ten bucks says that this photo makes it into the famous “Christmas letter” this year…

I’m glad at least one of us is photogenic!

Sorry, Nick, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re beautiful, too…

Thanksgiving is always a tense time. Those who know me will attest to the fact that I’m a little territorial about my kitchen. Clearly the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree!

A little bit of turkey and stuffing and she’s a docile as a baby…

…although no more accommodating of the camera than any of my other friends. Perhaps she’s related to Marjory in a former life?

My parents took lots more photos of the rest of their trip, and if they send me copies I’ll try to post them here this weekend. But at least a few are up – otherwise you’d think I’d fabricated their entire visit.

The rest of the trip was very much a combination of revisiting my old student haunts and celebrating our engagement. I’d put my organisational skills to work and the hotel were ready for us with a big suite, a plate of smoked salmon, and champagne on ice.

Our suite at the Old Course hotel, St Andrews

Champagne and smoked salmon

The bathroom sink was worthy of a photograph

Chromotherapy Jacuzzi. Or a fancy way of saying “Jacuzzi with coloured lights”, which proved important. The water in Scotland is brown because of all the peat in the soil, so you need the coloured lights to disguise it!

Aude, overlooking the Old Course

The final hole of the Old Course, with Hamilton Hall in the background

The Old Course

The Old Course

My legendary organisational skills were let down somewhat by dinner. Having failed to secure a reservation at the new seafood restaurant in St Andrews, I decided that I would wing it on the night. St Andrews in November – surely it wouldn’t be too busy?

Students must have more money than in my day – because the concierge at our five-star hotel couldn’t managed to get a table anywhere at all in St Andrews. We ended up eating at the hotel, which was actually a blessing in disguise. Aude had a superb piece of Scottish lamb and I had some wonderful venison, overlooking the Old Course.

We headed out onto the town and confirmed my thoughts – students definitely have more money than in my day. All of the bars have gone upmarket, wine-bar chic, which defeats the point. I can find that in London. St Andrews used to have loads of cozy bars with big fireplaces, but those are almost all gone. One or two remain, but they’re the exception rather than the norm. After a swift half pint in a couple of my old haunts, and a few aborted attempted at other old haunts which were now crap bars, we headed back to the hotel. We sat in the bar and drank single malt Scotch in front of a roaring fire. Just the way to end the night.

We woke up the following morning to a stunning, sunny morning. The plan was to head up to St Andrews, my alma mater and a nice place to spend a Saturday afternoon. We arrived just noon and headed out for lunch at the Central pub – one of my favourites (apparently one of Prince William’s favourites, too – but I found it first!)

We finished lunch, jumped into the car and headed out to the West Sands. We parked the car and headed off for a walk along a secluded part of the beach. And when we reached an appropriate spot, I sat Aude down, got down on one knee, and proposed.

The West Sands, just outside St Andrews

Matthew standing on the West Sands

That all sounds simple enough. But it’s been hurdle after hurdle getting to this point. I found the ring I wanted, but it was halfway around the world in Sydney and the logistics of getting to the UK were too complicated. Onto plan B – have the ring made locally.

I found the diamond I wanted, but couldn’t find anyone to make the ring. Then I found someone to make the ring, but he couldn’t find the right diamond. Diamond Merchant A wouldn’t do business with Diamond Merchant B. By luck as much as anything else, I finally found someone who could produce both the diamonds and the design I was looking for, and I commissioned the ring.

Aude’s engagement ring

I went to collect it last week only to find that it wasn’t quite right – so back to Antwerp it went for some further modification. I went back this week to collect it – and got a phone call at the same time from my partner (in the professional sense) asking where I was. From my vague answers, he concluded I was interviewing for a job – so I had a lot of explaining to do when I got back to the office.

Ring safely in hand, all I had to do was get it to Scotland without Aude noticing. Everything was going fine until we went through airport security, where I managed to get selected for a thorough search. I had to urge Aude along so the game wasn’t given away.

Even when we arrived, Aude was determined to put barriers in front of me. She rejected the first place I offered her to sit on the basis that it was too dirty (it’s a beach, for heaven’s sake, not a hospital!). Enormous signs warned us of the dangers of fast-rising tides, and in the back of my mind were thoughts of being swept out to sea.

Aude’s first reaction, being a woman, was to burst out in tears. Here’s a hint to all women – if you’re going to burst into tears, do us men the courtesy of giving us an answer. Otherwise, we put ourselves through the treacherous debate of “are those tears of joy or is she feeling sorry that I’ve misread the situation so badly and she’s wondering how to let me down gently?” After what seemed like an eternity (and with a little prompting from me) she gave me the answer I was waiting for.