Simon Harris

Come on.

Yeah, that sounds very promising actually.

Pity we'll all be long dead before it happens.

Now I better go and see when I can get a junket to celebrate this pie in the sea idea.

Adios!

If anyone's asking, hopefully I'll be several chins deep in paella sipping cervezas on the cost of their expenses.

Fall to rash, later on Nuala Carey will be telling us whether it's a weekend for a light jacket, a heavy shacket or whether you should just rain mack it.

Here to discuss is Francis Brennan.

Francis.

It's a sad day for Ireland, folks.

We were once a country of classy church weddings, a sense of occasion, Dolly.

Now it's all casual, people standing in gardens in their bare feet, reading vows off their phones, that chat GPT script off the internet.

Oh, it's frightful.

Oh, it's nasty.

Horrible chairs, plastic plants, a doughnutty civil servant, probably called Siobhan in chiffon, and no glitter in sight.

I've had more romantic trips to the dentist.

Come on!

You have people getting married in all sorts of quirky places now thanks to the relaxed rules.

Oh yeah, the converted barns.

Don't get me started.