I feel fairly confident that no-one will make any objections to the notice of impending marriage between the windy miller and me, which for the next three weeks will be pinned on the noticeboard, almost behind the filing cabinet, in the inner porch of the back door of the British Consulate in Amsterdam. You have to speak through the intercom to the grumpy security guard at the front door, and again at the back door intercom to get in there, so I doubt you'll get in anyway. I took a friend with me to Amsterdam today, and she had to wait on the street until I complained to the consul officer, and he sent the guard out to bring her in.
I trust it's written in English, translated from the Dutch via Estonian, Kurdish, American Sign Language and Xhosa. That sounds like a good excuse for a gin.