Wedding balls

We're nearing the day of the wedding, in the home straight, over the final hurdle and other cliches. To be honest I'm pretty calm about the whole thing. This is mainly because we've kept all the associated hassles to a minimum. I don’t want to be worrying about the orchestra striking up at the right moment and what time the doves will be released, when I could be having a laugh with my family and friends.

I still can’t get rid of the feeling we should have just pissed off to Vegas and got married by a Chinese Elvis. We could have had a huge party when we got back, no pressure and hopefully no hard feelings from the family. To be fair, the reason I can’t get this feeling out of my head is 'cause the missus would have preferred it that way. While I’ve been quite relaxed about the whole thing (the lack of orchestra and doves has helped), she’s had a lot more to worry about.

In classic bad-sitcom style, her parents are divorced and only spoke for the first time at their other daughter's wedding last year. So we thought we'd be getting away easy this time, since there had already been first contact (as they'd say on Star Trek). Unfortunately, the stakes have been raised because the mum is bringing her new boyfriend Mike and his daughter Catherine. The mum's a fairly bubbly person and is entitled to a bit of happiness - after all people don't just shrivel up and die because things didn't work out in the past.

I've not heard the question raised vocally, but the feeling seems to be that we should have invited him to the wedding, the meal and then the party. He is her new partner, after all. We didn't feel happy doing this, mainly because it's going to piss of the dad who we also like very much. He's a proud man and they're both meeting my parents for the first time, so nobody would want to be competing with the new squeeze.

As it is, Mike and his daughter are coming to our evening do. Frankly it's our day and we're not letting anything spoil it, no offence to them. No doubt we'll see them a lot more in the future. But this still begged the question, who was going to tell the dad he even existed? The mum wouldn't do it herself, not being on speaking terms. The older sister didn't seem particularly keen, so that left the missus. And that left the missus in a terrible state. She was meeting up with the dad while I was away on my stag do and planned to do it then. But the stress slowly grew over the week and when I left the house I could see the fear in her eyes.

So I did what any stupid man would do and phoned him myself from the airport, laying everything out in simple terms. Yes, the new boyfriend would be at the party. No, that didn't mean he had to stay away or nip off early. I don't like dicking around on stuff like this, I just don't see the point of it. My stupid man brain kicks in and wants to sort everything out. I want to solve all the little problems that only seem big from a distance, but are actually tiny when you get right up on them. If I wrote a soap opera, the people would all get on a bit better and no-one would sleep with Phil Mitchell.

So the wedding should go off with the minimum fuss in all areas. I'm even going to try and be on time, it's my funeral I want to be late for. It may only be a simple registry office, restaurant, pub affair, but neither of us ever spent our time imagining a Posh 'n Becks type wedding (actually, neither of us expected to get married, ever). I think we'd be happy if they went "Bosh, jobs a good 'un", stamped our hands and then shouted "Next!" It's not the ceremony that's important, or how many people you invite, or whether you have more flowers, bridesmaids and choirboys than Mrs Jones' daughter did. It's the committment you're making. I think sometimes people forget that.