Whose boat are we on? No recollection, but it looks like we're in Middle Harbour. These spectacles are light-sensitive, but nothing could protect me from her blinding charms.
My buck's night takes place at the Albury (now defunct), complete with drag show. I think I remember we eat at one of the cheap Yugoslav barbeque restaurants across from it on Oxford Street. Pictured here with Grant, Kuma, John, Anthony, and Doug.
Brother Peter signs the register of births, deaths and marriages at St Peters, Watson's Bay.
Following the wedding, and the reception at Fisherman's Lodge, we make our escape in Geoff's MG. Seen tottering toward the car is my gran, Phyllis. Despite her age and experience, she doesn't bat an eyelid when I decide to marry a Japanese.
No suprise that we visit Izu and Hakone for our honeymoon. Just a touch of irony here, in the humid surrounds of the Atagawa Banana and Crocodile Park.
Inspired by the gorgeous Cattleya blossoms and a cement cupid, my fair new bride expresses her wonder.
I'm liable to do these impressions on zero notice. "Mr Flemingo," writes my wife in the album.
Having seen the Samurai Museum, we stroll along the wooden path into the depths of the Wet Flower Park.
And inspired by the fresh rural air, I prove that all 'gaijin' are 'hen' with an impression of Rambo channelled through the spirit of a leprachaun.
This is later, after my marriage, because there's a pregnant Yukiko (with Adelaide within) walking with gran. The occasion is Anthony's wedding.