I HAVEN’T been taking as much notice of all the hoo-ha over the EU referendum as you might expect.

“How can this be?” I hear you ask.

“That woman is always going on about politics!”

Truth to tell, I’ve been totally distracted.

While Britain, and indeed Salisbury, were voting to divorce themselves from their European partners, our No.1 son and his fiancée were busy setting things up for their wedding celebration on a camping field in the middle of nowhere (well, deepest Dorset, actually).

With that in mind, my postal vote went off a couple of weeks ago and from that point on, with no idea whether I’d made the right choice, I gave up listening to the arguments. Priorities changed.

Faced with the logistical nightmare of transporting everything to a site with few facilities an hour-and-a-half ’s drive away, there was plenty else to discuss in the Riddle household, I can tell you!

Anyway, it all went off swimmingly.

Hired yurt, generator and refrigerator van arrived on time, along with a trailer of straw bales for seating and hefty wooden poles from which two guys spent an entire day stringing lights.

It was a DIY, festival kind of wedding, all home-made and vintage and extremely beautiful, in a wonderful location just a couple of miles inland with a distant sea view down the valley.

The rain was mercifully infrequent, the air mild, the food - courtesy of our host, an organic smallholder - was fantastic, and the DJ and drummer, veterans of Larmer Tree, were still going down a storm well after we oldies had retired to our comfy beds in the holiday cottages across the lane.

Had these things been available 37 years ago, I’d have loved a wedding like that.

Trouble is, the whole thing took several of us two days to disassemble, and now I’ve got home, I’ve dropped Mum off, it’s Monday night and I’ve got a deadline to meet.

Downstairs are mounds of slightly damp, grass-or-wine-stained drapery to wash (along with two kilometres of bunting) before it starts to smell mouldy, and uneaten strawberries to do something with because I rather overordered from the very helpful lady at Bake Farm. If only I had time to make some jam!

Tomorrow’s taken up with a return trip to Dorset collecting marquee poles and other bits and pieces that wouldn’t fit in the hired van, to bring home on the roof rack.

But we’ve got Poppy back from the dogsitters, we’re all still in one piece, and whatever’s happening in the wacky world of Boris, Call Me Dave and the rest of them, not to mention our national disaster of a football team, all’s right with our world.

anneriddle36@gmail.com