My View - Wednesday September 20th 2017
I returned from my niece's wedding last weekend with the promise of two iPhone 6's and a Jack Russell. I blame it on the Yorkshire rhubarb gin because I'm almost certain I wouldn't have agreed to swap the guinea pigs for a puppy if I'd stuck with tomato juice. And I don't think my brother would have been quite so keen to upgrade my daughters' mobiles in return for an ear-flick.
Still, it was a great day. The church ceremony was beautiful, enhanced by the freestyling vicar who placed unusual emphasis on the joy of sexual union, which caused a lot of nudging and winking from the bridesmaids. He was also very keen to highlight the importance of wives letting their husbands have the last word now and again. I couldn't help but wonder who wore the pants in his house.
There were some cracking hats - feathered, floppy and pill box styles all tilted carefully on hairs-prayed coiffures. It didn't take long for them to be whipped off and plonked on dancing dads though, once the band began. I was particularly pleased with my titfer, which was originally from Marks & Sparks, but found it's way to me via Oxfam for under a tenner. Bargain.
I had slight issues with my frock though, as I don't often get dolled up and misjudged my layering. I can't bear to be cold, so took the sensible precaution of slipping a thermal underneath. But when I woke up, it had gone. Apparently, once 'Stayin' Alive' came on I did away with my vest under table number two and it hasn't been seen since.
Bizarrely, I learned some fun facts about funghi from a chap I was sat next to at the meal. I renamed him The International Man of Mushrooms, following his disclosure that that button, closed cup and flat mushrooms are all exactly the same, but just grown for different lengths of time. Who knew?
Perhaps less surprising was witnessing old soaks Karen and Dobbie smuggling floral decorations into the taxi under their pashminas. In fairness, my sister had insisted the guests take a succulent or two but they half-inched enough hydrangeas to open their own hot house. They've got form though, at my wedding they nicked off with half a dozen daffodils a-piece, then snuck back in for the mini buckets of oasis.
The father of the bride told me it was the best day of his life and for once, the mother of the bride let him have the last word. But most importantly, newlyweds Jess and James had a blast and are now recuperating somewhere sunny, no doubt wishing they could re-live it all again. Which is probably more than can be said for the best man, who is likely to still be slumped over the cheeseboard, trying to carve the caerphilly with a pencil.