Better wed than dead

Sorry there’s been such a long gap between entries, I know I’ve been neglecting my blog. It’s partly because the subject I have to cover next is so huge. You know what it’s like, when there’s a big job to be done you keep putting it off. Well I’m back now, but I warn you this is going to be a long one so I suggest you go and make a cup of tea before we start.

The World Wide Wed

It’s seems like an unusual statement to come from my lips – I never thought I’d be saying these words - but I’m now a married man. The ball and chain was fitted and eternally locked on Saturday 3 April, during a ceremony at Waltham Forest Registry Office. If I’m supposed to be downhearted at this curbing of my freedoms then I’m obviously not following the new husband’s guide closely enough. It helped that the day itself was one of the best I’ve ever had.

The day started when my hosts Paul and Tracy woke me up with champagne and orange juice (I’d have said they woke me up with buck’s fizz, but that seems a bit Eurovision Song Contest). Having had a night out at the Romford Dog Track, this was just what I needed to cure the small hangover I had. The bacon and egg sandwiches also went down a treat. As if this wasn’t enough, they also made the rest of the sandwiches for the party, Tray having done half of them the night before. These are the kind of friends you never let go of.

The first port of call was The Plough Inn, to put up some A3 photos of the bride and I through the ages. I’d chosen much more evil photos of me than of her, as this was a surprise and I didn’t want the marriage annulled before it had a chance to get going. My choice of hairstyles and glasses over the years hasn’t been that wise so it wasn’t too hard to find some grim photographic evidence. Once that was done there was time for a beer and half an hour of Man Utd vs Arsenal. Well, it’s important to start off how you mean to go on. Paul & Tracy and Niall & Alex arrived and the 1.30pm trudge to the registry office was afoot. And that’s the moment a delayed text message from my better half arrived: “Morning gorgeous. Are you still OK to meet at the registry office at 1.30 as we need to see the registrar?”

Here it was, that moment when it all starts to unravel like countless sitcoms had told me it would. So I left the others to their walk and pegged it as fast as I could. I’d managed to keep a calm head all week but I have to admit I was worried for the first time. Arriving sweaty and out of breath, the first thing I saw were the raised eyebrows of my brother Simon. After the customary “Alright fella?” it soon became clear the bride hadn’t arrived yet. I know it’s tradition that she’s late, but making me hurry for a meeting and then not being there herself seemed a bit sadistic.

Taxi for Hoskyn

I did my bit with the registrar and she confirmed that Jane had phoned to say they were stuck in traffic. This seemed funny because it was only a 10-minute drive from our house. I was tempted to ask the registrar if she could hear planes taking off in the background as maybe she was stuck in traffic on her way to the airport having decided not to go through with it. Pressure had been mounting all week on Jane and I wouldn’t have been surprised at a last minute escape plan. But my dad had driven me to the pub earlier and had been held up badly by the traffic. So it was time to put in a call with two jobs – to check she really was on the way and to calm her down if she was stuck in the car.

Ten minutes later she was running into my arms and we were ready to get the show on the road. We had chosen our wedding outfits separately so this was the first time we’d seen them. She had on the most beautiful bluey-green dress with a black fake fur wrap around her shoulders. I’d told my family the night before that my suit was a bit Miami Vice and I think a few bets changed hands on what it might be like. Someone even suggested it might be more Austin Powers than Crocket and Tubbs.

After a few questions to make sure we weren’t marrying for money or a UK passport, our families joined us inside. The chief registrar was an authoritative sounding man who also had a lot of warmth in his voice. He’d been the first person we met when we signed up for the wedding date and had put us at ease with a few jokes. He laid out the three parts of the procedure and we began. When I say he talked us through the three parts that were to come you might think this ceremony was going to take some time – I certainly did – but it was over in about 10 minutes. Apart from a slight wobble in my voice when I nearly bottled it and started to blub, the ceremony went off perfectly. There was the usual family fuss over photos of the bride and myself outside in the garden, but at least we managed to avoid standing in the tacky trellis archway. Full family photos were shunned, partly because the shot of my parents and Jane’s estranged parents was never going to happen and partly because the missus is a little bit conscious of her height when photographed next to others. We managed to get away pretty quickly all things considered, as I remember the professional photos at my brother’s wedding took hours to complete.

It’s a good job our next stop was the wedding meal because so far the day had really taken it out of me. We’d taken the unusual step of ordering meals at a local restaurant, sending everyone photocopies of the menu and getting them to choose what they wanted. It turned out to be a great choice, as when we arrived it was clear the staff at The Mondragone had done us proud. A huge table was laid out ready and there were staff waiting to take drink orders. A few people had never returned their food orders and they quickly chose what they wanted.

The initial move for seats (we hadn’t put out place names - too political) ended without a scuffle, and I sat opposite my best friend from Stoke (Jim), my mother in law (Maire) and Jane’s best friend from university (Nicky). The food was washed down with wine, plus six bottles of our own champagne they’d let us bring for a nominal corkage fee (courtesy of Maire and Mike). Everyone was very complimentary about their starters and main courses and I have to admit my steak went down very easily. There were plenty more photos snapped during the meal, which might explain why my mum never removed her hat. The best men also filmed us talking about our hopes and plans for the future, which will either make interesting or depressing viewing in a few years time.

After paying the bill and thanking all the staff profusely for such good food and service, I headed off with an advance party to the pub – again it’s best to start how you mean to go on. I left my wife behind with the stragglers, including her mum and Nicky. Jane’s dad took my new siblings-in-law home to drop off their daughter Hannah. He was going home “to put his dancing shoes on” and then picking them up on the way back.

When we arrived at The Plough Inn I was annoyed to see that people were sitting in the room we’d reserved – until I realised that I knew them! They were from Jane’s mum’s side of the family and once I got into the room I could see there were some of my friends as well. There was much handshaking and descriptions of the wedding to get through, but I managed to shake some of that off by sorting out the CD mixer we’d hired for our DJ. To kick things off we just stuck a CD of Frank Sinatra on as the DJ – a friend of Jane’s who was doing it as a wedding present - wasn’t starting until later. Frank certainly added a touch of class to the early drinks.

Pretty soon the place was heaving and everyone we’d invited seemed to have made the effort. Like my family some of them had had to hire hotels in London and one even mentioned that it was my dad’s block booking that kept them out of the same hotel. I did my best to mingle, which wasn’t hard work because we’d filled the room with our best and longest friends. Their only reward was the free beer coming from the money we’d stuck behind the bar – well most of them were journalists, they expect the bar to be free when they turn up for an event :)

The only thing that was bothering me was the two-man huddle my best men had been in since arriving at the pub. It seemed there were some last minute changes to the speech, which was already running at about eight pages of small type. Before that could happen I made a little speech of my own. In front of a room full of people I told Jane how special she made every day, something my brother Simon later said he never thought he’d see. Unfortunately, it was then time for the best men’s speech. I won’t print the lies, denigrations, abuses and liberties that were taken here. But since I shared a flat with Paul and Niall for a good few years and they saw some of my worst excesses and choices of girlfriend, I think I got off pretty lightly.

After that we assembled the family paparazzi for that grand old ceremony - cutting the wedding cake. I’ve never really understood the excitement over this particular tradition but we did manage to spice it up a bit. As we cut through both layers at once, when we lifted them up the top one flew out and landed on the floor. Jane’s dad managed to get a snap at the moment when Jane and I both realised what had happened and our hands flew to our faces with the shock (it was such a good snap we used it as the thank you card for people who’d bought us presents).

By 9pm the dance floor was already starting to fill up, mainly because our DJ Neal was playing a great mix of music from the 60s right through to modern day stuff. This was no cheesy wedding set with Come On Eileen and Hi Ho Silver Lining, but a real mix of classics. There’s nothing like seeing your mum and your mum-in-law dancing to Fat Boy Slim to put a big happy grin on your face. But the real star of the dance floor was Jane’s dad Don. When he said he was going home to put his dancing shoes on he wasn’t kidding, they were black and white and wouldn’t have looked out of place in a gangster movie. He’s no shy boy on the dance floor either, spinning both the younger and older ladies around. I think it’s fair to say he wasn’t cutting a rug he was slicing the thing to pieces. Second only to Don was my mate Jim, who has never been much of a social butterfly but has very recently shed his pupae case and started to enjoy life. It may have been meeting the boys from the stag do again, it may have been that he was happy, it was at least partly to do with the alcohol, but he was up on the stage in his sunglasses dancing for all he was worth. One day he may even let me show him the video of his finer dance moments.

Taxi for Hoskyn

The bride’s mother had been fairly active on the dance floor, but also at the bar. You can’t blame a mother for getting emotional at her daughter’s wedding – she’d have to be made of stone not to shed a few tears – but this went a bit far when she clasped my hands and said “Take care of my baby” through wobbly lips. She was equally teary with Jane and pretty soon new boyfriend Mike was whisking her back to the hotel. I can’t help thinking that my dad would have been the same if he hadn’t been driving.

One late arrival to proceedings was Rene, but his arrival meant a performance of his party piece, a real crowd pleaser if you’re a fan of the bazaar. I don’t know how it first started but Rene has become known for his performance of Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights. Imagine someone singing badly. Imagine someone screaming a few of the words. Imagine rehearsed arm movements for certain phrases. Whatever vision you have in your head right now, it doesn’t even begin to come close to the experience. It’s one of those weird things that’s so bad it’s good, like Baywatch or Street Soldiers. I’ve witnessed him doing this act for charity dressed as Kate Bush and that had to be seen to be believed.

Before the night was out our DJ Neal came through for us again with a blast of Bohemian Rhapsody. At this point all our friends gathered on the dance floor and put their arms around each other, singing along with the lyrics. It was one of those magical, spontaneous moments that also seemed to sum up our generation. Someone had the foresight to get this on video and although the tape ran out before the end of the song there was enough air guitar on there to hold a lot of people to ransom. It was probably this moment that lead Neal to later say “I don’t want to sound like a wanker but there was a lot of love in that room”.

As the evening drew to a close and people headed off, my mum and a few others decided to walk back to the hotel while my dad drove back (I later found out they got lost on the way and had to phone my dad to come and pick them up). As Jane and I cleared up the photos from the walls and collected our cards, the staff at The Plough gave us a hand. They seemed to have enjoyed the evening as much as we had, and had been out dancing when not serving our guests. I can’t think of any other pub where that would have happened. The owner also stopped to chat and told us about his wedding day, when he and his bride had £20,000 pinned to them by their Greek families (back in the days when that amount would buy you a house in London). They ended up taking the money home in a plastic carrier bag, scared it would be lost or stolen.

As a final gesture of kindness they gave us a bottle of Moet champagne to take with us, and we were off to start our married life.