So then I made it to Rabat. Did the stress stop? No, the stress doubled.Had I lovely dinner with the family and hopped into bed at around 12. A not-long-enough 9 hours later I was up again, ready for a whole day of cooking. Lots of cooking. Like, 16 whole chickens in a pan and that’s just one dish. That kind of cooking. I rolled 3 kilos of meatballs, pulled the stringy stuff off a brain, and sliced a load of peppers.

It was good fun though, because I learnt more cooking, and anyway I like that stuff.

The next day it was up early again. BMS and Fatima-Zahra took me to get my hair done. Oh to have wonderful long black Moroccan tresses which curl beautifully. Mine curled, but it was a bit of a traumatic experience. Photos exist somewhere, so to come, hopefully.

Then we had couscous lunch with all the family. I mean ALL the family. We served 3 separate tables. I managed to spill stuff on the floor and generally be a bad daughter. Though in the end I think I helped out more than other daughter, who spent an inordinate amount of time getting her make-up done by an auntie.  Once we’d all got dressed up we headed to a random point in the road in the centre of Rabat, just down from the hotel. The band began to play, the huge and ridiculously expensive gifts were lifted, and we headed forward. It was so exciting. Once we got inside we met the brides family, and took our seats. Unfortunately I ended up sitting with friends rather than with the family, so I felt left out for most of the night, but I danced, and ate good food, and could see they were enjoying themselves which is what matters.

It was a lovely few days all round. And of course, not forgetting a huge