In about 90 years from now, when I’m old and grey, sitting on my stoep and sticking chicken bones into my pockets off my plate , I’m going to look back at all the weddings I ever shot and fondly remember all the little stories that went into each one. So while I still do have my faculties about me, I want to take this opportunity to talk about all the little stories that went into making up the wonderful Barbara-Lee and De Wet’s wedding. It started with me arriving to shoot Barbara-Lee at De Kleine Zalze. She walked up to me and said: ‘I’m quite nervous Warren.’ I gave her a hug and she put her head on my shoulder just like a little girl.’ It was a wonderful moment. Then there was Rochelle, Barbara-Lee’s good friend who had the sheer nerve to call me ‘Oom.’ I nearly left there and then, but I managed to compose myself and deal with it. Then there was Louis, Barbara-Lee’s dad – man, this is the kind of guy you want as your father! He loves his daughters flatout and it really shows. Onto the service we go and there stands De Wet who just couldn’t stop looking at his rather texasgoldengirl.com/amoxicillin/ gorgeous-looking bride. A lot of grooms are a touch tense up at the front during the ceremony, but not our De Wet – you’d need to empty a can of pepper spray into his eyes to prevent him from just staring at his soon-to-be wife. After the service, along came Angela, the cutest little flower-girl in Stellenbosch that day. I didn’t really need to even try and get her to play along for the camera – she just did whatever floated her boat all by herself and I snapped away. And finally there was the reception which wasn’t all that different to any other reception really. Until the DJ decided to play ‘Cotton-eyed Joe.’ At that moment things just completely erupted into what I can only describe as disorganised chaos. I drove home a very happy man that night, very mindful of the fact that high up on the slopes of the Somerset West Mountains, fire-fighters were giving it there all to douse the flames of a blazing fire wreaking havoc on the outskirts of Stellenbosch. So ja, 90 years from now as I mess spaghetti down my shirt front, I hope some wedding photographer somewhere is having as much fun as I had at this wedding.