What a hectic, fun packed, tiring weekend that was. I’m exhausted. Ooohh, I love a good wedding – and it certainly was a good wedding.
The plan to get changed at the hotel, in the toilets if it was too early to check in, was jettisoned when I realised that I wasn’t able to get myself into my underpinnings without at least one extra person to lever me into them. I didn’t really fancy asking a total stranger to help me get the chesticles under control.
B obliged by sticking his knee in my back and pulling at the offending article until it gave in and met up in the middle. Bloody strapless bras, in order for them to do their job with mammoth mammaries they have to be so tight round the ribs that breathing becomes an optional extra. It’s no wonder Victorian women fainted all the time. Note to self: remember to take only shallow breaths or the whole thing could ping off at any moment like Barbara Windsor’s bra in ‘Carry on Camping’. What if it landed on the vicar’s head?!! Ooo-er Mrs…..doesn’t bear thinking about.
After a flurry of excitement and last minute panics we finally got on the road to Bradford, me and B with M & S and C followed behind in her car with her friend Ben.
Arriving at the hotel the first thing we saw was a very nervous groom pacing up and down the car park. Hehe, I’ve never seen him nervous before. We got that first, awkward hour over with when no one knows where to go or who to speak to and made our way up to where the ceremony was to take place. The atmosphere was really lovely. B and me were sat next to the bride’s Grandma, she was made up when I curtsied to her. As witnesses, me and B had been placed nearish to the front of the room, while the peasants rest of our friends and family were a bit nearer the back.
Bit of a mistake really, putting us right behind the bride’s Mum. Her sobbing (with joy I hope) was very infectious. I could feel myself filling up with tears every two minutes. I cried at the music, the little bridesmaid running to her dad (the groom)when she saw him, shouting “Daddy!!” I cried at Vicky’s Mum crying, the bride’s entrance, the reading. the bride and groom’s emotional responses. Sod the mascara, I wept like a baby through the whole thing. You’d think I’d be immune to it in my job, wouldn’t you?
The service was really personal and very moving, even B got a bit of dust in his eye.
Here’s the bride’s Mum having a rare dry eyed moment…..oh no. I got that wrong, there she goes again!
Of course, after the emotion came the giddyness. Boobs (mine) being the joke of the weekend, Stu started it all off by asking for a pint of Titley’s. Well, that was the start of a good 10 hours of laughing, drinking, eating and general merry making.
Kev and Vik had decided to split up groups of people and put them on tables with people they didn’t know. If I’m honest I was a bit concerned about that and not particularly looking forward to being sat with total strangers. How wrong can you be? It was a stroke of pure genius.
They’d obviously spent a lot of time thinking about who would get on well with whom and it paid off. What a hoot! The lady sat next to me instantly told me that she’d been looking forward to meeting me and she knows me as ‘lesbian.’
“Excuse me, did you say ‘lesbian?”
“Yes, Vik was telling me about you and your husband and I thought she said, ‘my lesbian bob’, and it just stuck”
Well, after an ice breaker like that you can’t fail but get on, can you?
The meal was excellent and she best man’s speech was riotous. Not in the least bit smutty, he talked about Kev’s various madcap activities, which have apparently included, golf, climbing, walking, cycling and potholing. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like, potholing? Well, look down your toilet, it’s like climbing down that.” The place was in stitches, it was without exception the best best man’s speech I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot!
“Crawling down potholes this small.”
The meal was lovely. The jury is still out on the exact ingredients of the soup. We know it was very tasty and that it was green, of it’s greenness there is absolutely no doubt but was it celery, leek and potato, asparagus or some other green vegetable that chooses to remain anonymous? Answers on a postcard.
The main meal of chicken in cream sauce with roasties (my favourite) and beautifully cooked vegetables was gorgeous. I could have eaten mine and B’s. Pudding was wedding cake, very nice it was too. That is my clumsy way of getting this picture in:
After the ‘after the meal and before the evening reception’ lull, we sat outside on the patio, people kept coming by and joining us, they’d stay for a while and then off they’d go again to be replaced by someone else. It was so sociable, everyone just joined in with everyone else. One couple came to join us and the chap sat down and introduced himself by saying: “Hello, my name’s Warren, I’ve got a rabbit up my arse.”
We sat there stunned for a minute until we got the joke then we all fell about laughing as his wife asked us if we’d like to see her ‘gift’. She lifted up a gift bag and took a beautifully gift wrapped package out of it. “Isn’t it pretty?” she said. “Hang on”, I said, “it’s got a spout sticking out of it, it’s a bloody wine box!”
“Well, you don’t want to be paying bar prices, do you? We always take a box, wrapped for whatever the occasion is. Would you like a glass?”
I sat there gobsmacked while everyone else laughed at me. Oh! The stuff I’ve learnt!! It would appear that the only people who pay bar prices are me and B, every bugger else secretes their alcohol about their person or in their room, popping upstairs for regular refills. Even our own daughter knows about this and declares us to be “Soooooooo naive!” How did I get to this age without knowing that!
A fourteen year old boy taught me about the fastest way to get drunk. I’m not sure you really want to know this but I’ll tell you anyway.
The secret is to pour said alcohol into your arse. Yup. You read that correctly.
Into. Your. Arse.
Actually, I think it could be marketed as the:
Kill two birds with one stone. Clean yourself out and get drunk simultaneously. Every bottle of booze comes with it’s own funnel and hosepipe.
Personally, I think that if you are that desperate to get drunk you may have a teensy weensy problem that needs sorting out a bit sharpish.
The bride and groom did their first dance for us, stating off with a slow shuffle and then amazing us all as the music changed by dancing a brilliant samba! They had been having lessons in private for weeks. That certainly paid off, they looked fantastic and everyone in the room was on their feet cheering them on.
Ok, that’s the end of part one. Tune in for part two tomorrow.