“I know he’s probably too young for me, Sally, but I really like him,” said a bubbly friend of mine at the wedding reception evening do at Powderham Castle last night.

“Me too,” I gushed,”yes, he is too young – and I’m married – but let’s have another photo taken with him anyway!”

I’d already had my photo taken with him twice – near the bar they had a free photo booth and a dressing up box to coax the shy folk into becoming wild and extroverted. We found him by the photo booth and beckoned him back inside (just as the previous bevy of ladies had done). He didn’t require much coaxing. He favoured the two-horned viking helmet, which he’d worn before, but I fancied he would suit the cowboy hat (which he did).

“Who is he?” demure ladies whispered in my ear.

“I don’t know but he reminds me of a young Ian Botham,” I enthused.

“Ah yes,” they all agreed. “Is he married?”

(Back in the eighties Ian Botham was the handsome six-foot-two English cricketer who was always in the news for his exploits on, and off, the cricket field. A few years ago he advertised the breakfast cereal “Shredded Wheat” – “Good for your heart!” – and more recently I saw him on television advertising a foot bath (or similar) for old people. Not so inspiring as the old days…)

He wasn’t the groom, or the best man… or even father of the groom. His name was Charlie (like my dad). No, he wasn’t the Charles of Powderham Castle (Charles Peregrine Courtenay, 19th Earl of Devon) – gorgeous as the Earl is (met him years ago when he was a twenty-three year old student and rugby player) – but our Charlie was none-the-less charismatic.

“You’re nice,” Charlie said, kissing me goodbye on the cheek, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Now that’s what I call a gentleman.