‘The main thing now is to sort out the seating plan,’ I tell her, as we sit down in her living room with a glass of wine. ‘Is Ben around? He should probably be in on this.’

‘I sent him to the pub,’ Cath tells me. ‘We tried to sort it out ourselves, but we just keep disagreeing. He’s got this bee in his bonnet that the numbers need to be even on both sides. Well, his mum has, anyway. Problem is, I’ve got a huge family. He’s an only child and so were both of his parents, but there’s four of us on my side, plus twelve cousins. If there’s going to be even numbers on both sides, his mum’ll end up inviting her second cousin three times removed before my brother’s even got a seat.’

We sit down on her living room floor and move pieces of paper around for a good half an hour before realising there’s no fair or democratic way to do it. The numbers are going to be unbalanced in any case.

‘You’ve either got to stop at cousins, or whatever line on the family tree you choose, or match numbers on both sides. You can’t do both,’ I tell her.

‘I know. I’ve been telling Ben that for months. His mum’s still under the impression we’re going to invite more people from her side of the family. He’s going to have to say something to her pretty quickly. We can’t go inviting people at this stage, not so long after all the invitations have gone out. They’ll know they’re afterthoughts.’

In the end, we decide to go for a plan that couldn’t possibly upset anybody: complete randomness. We write all the couples’ names on pieces of paper — as well as anyone attending on their own — and put them in a bowl. Then we mix them up and take them out one by one, seating them around our imaginary tables. They get what they’re given.

‘Ah. Problem,’ Cath says, scrunching up her face. ‘Uncle Mike can’t sit there.’

‘Why not?’ I ask.

‘He used to be married to Teri. Can’t have them on the same table.’

‘So move him back a couple of tables.’

‘But he’s my dad’s brother. We can’t really have him at the back.’

‘We’re going for randomness, Cath. No hierarchy, remember?’

‘Even so. There must be somewhere else we can put him.’

I sigh. ‘Well let’s move Teri instead. Mike can stay where he is, near the front.’

‘But she’s my mum’s best friend. And she needs to be on that table, because it’s closest to the disabled toilet.’

I’m starting to see why wedding planning tends to cause so many rifts and arguments in families.

‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘I went to one last year which was ridiculously informal. They had a chip van outside the venue that did the catering. Everyone queued up for their fish and chips, then went and sat down wherever the hell they wanted. People moved about, got up and mingled, it was great. Why not do that? You can still save a seat near the disabled toilet for Teri, and as far as her and Uncle Mike are concerned, never the twain shall meet.’