Lurve, John Lennon once propounded, is all you need, but then he was a chemical-hoovering millionaire rock star who, not long before, had wedded the superlatively daft Yoko Ono (proof, if needed, that the drugs do work). Still, it's undeniable that, though collectively more cynical and less religious than their forebears, people remain rather keen on getting hitched. Far from losing its allure, marriage (as opposed to marital breakdown) seems impervious to cultural upheaval.
Well, not quite. The ubiquity of the traditional white wedding has come under threat from a slew of more exotic alternatives. This isn't to suggest that Ireland is about to witness an outbreak of drugged-out, Las Vegas-style nuptial naffness - vows exchanged mid-bungee jump, on Disney World rides, that sort of thing. Rather, there is a small, but perceptible drift away from church-officiated ceremonies, a trend unthinkable even 10 years ago. Only church and registry office weddings have legal status - but many couples choose to augment the latter with something a little less sterile.
Jon Hanna (23) and Celine Byrne (26) were married by a priest, exchanged rings and wedding vows and hosted a typically rumbustious Irish booze-up. The Pope, however, would not have approved. They tied the knot - literally - in the presence of a pagan cleric, at an altar sanctified according to ancient Celtic ritual. "We both knew that the traditional church wedding wasn't for us. We didn't believe in that stuff so in good faith could not go through with it," says Jon, a Dublin-based website designer.
The couple, sharing a fascination with witchcraft, contacted a pagan high priestess who agreed to officiate at the wedding. Both families initially resisted their decision. They were, says Celine, "a bit weirded out". "My dad was quite disappointed that he wouldn't get to lead me up the aisle. It was more suspicion of the unknown than anything else. Many people have very inaccurate notions about paganism."
Pagan marriages are a curious jumble of the mundane and outlandish; Jon and Celine swapped rings and swore love and loyalty like any other husband and wife but in a hotel room rather than chapel and in the metaphorical presence of an outlandish pantheon of nature deities. An open-air rite - old Celtic burial sites and misty woodland locales are popular locales for pagan nuptials - was planned but abandoned amid fears of a washout.
"The out-of-doors is an ideal setting for a pagan wedding but, even though it was mid-summer, we decided not to take the risk. It would be just our luck that we'd all get soaked to the bone," says Jon.
Unlike the Christian equivalent, pagan marriages come in three categories. A couple can opt to marry for a year and a day (and then jump ship if things aren't working out), for life (as per the traditional "till death do us part" covenant) or - as Jon and Celine chose - for eternity.
"Most pagans believe in reincarnation of some kind or other though not in the same exact, regimented way as Buddhists might. So we are promised to one another for life and beyond," he explains.
Cynics will mutter that pagan nuptials are, minutiae aside, no different from the Christian counterpart; one code of beliefs merely supplanting another. For the avowed atheist, the Irish branch of the Humanist Association - an international collective of non-believers with a common belief in ethical agnosticism - offers a ceremony entirely divested of religious content. The humanist ritual takes the church model as inspiration but removes all reference to a godhead. A family member usually officiates in place of a priest but, for a small fee, the humanists offer a surrogate "pastor".
Sharp rise in the demand for the association's services is indicative of a shift away from conventional rite, says Irish secretary Dick Spicer. Separated and divorced people account for a significant percentage of humanist weddings. Spicer is currently preparing a gay couple for marriage.
"People have been getting married since the dawn of time. It was only accepted into the church as a sacrament in the 15th century," he says.
"We require ritual in their lives. But there is no reason why this should be of a specifically religious nature."
God-bashing has never been so popular - a trend which humanists acknowledge has encouraged a growth in membership. A guide to humanist ritual, co-authored by Spicer, has sold out in many bookshops around Ireland. "It's terribly trendy to knock the church at the moment. But I'm not bothered why people come to us and ask us to help with a wedding. If we can help make a couple happy - that's reason enough."