scouting for boys - no just another wedding

Dear Marianne,

I don't care what you or anyone else says I have just sat through the longest, and least funny best man's speech in the history of weddings.
A best man's speech should be either very very funny, very very rude, or very very sentimental, if it can't be any of these let it be short.
This speech was so long that the Best Man actually got heckled by guests, others went for really long wees, I kept myself going by watching the kids playing kick each other outside and fantasising about being out there with them. He had been going half an hour when at last he moved on from memories of the scouts, [group sigh of relief]to memories of the venture scouts [group sigh of desperation].
Eventually he arrived at the toast. "And here's to Steve and Pauline - Hurrah." - ouch! The bride came over: "The most boring man in the world" she sighed. "Yes Maureen", I said.

This was my third wedding of the year and the second in two weeks. The first was Christian, the second was Humanist and the third Civil. So, I have experienced three different types of ceremony, three styles of canapes and greeting drinks, three different flower arrangements, three different meals, three different types of childcare provision and three different sets of speeches, and here are the results of the English jury.....

Anyway, back to this weeks wedding.
As I tried to belt up the M25 in our rented renault clio, (papa it doesn't like fourth gear- nicole I am your father but I want to fuck you...), with the big kids, I suddenly thought that maybe I had got the time wrong for the wedding. Having lost all the crucial details of the day, sent four months before, I only had a faded entry in the calendar to go on, and now I thought well it could have said 11.30 not 1.30pm. This made the shortish journey to Bromley feel quite long, and the contempt from the big kids in the back was hurting my neck. Unfortunately the matter took a while to resolve, when, as we arrived for the wedding to see people milling around, I realised I only knew one other person at the wedding and I couldn't see them milling. So we stood by the car for a while as I put my clacky shoes on, and we shifted about for a bit. I was all for going over and saying is this Steve and Maureen's wedding, but Craig and the kids wanted to stay put. It was a little tense, with everyone wanting to blame me for our predicament, but concerned that I might have the first bastard to speak.
Eventually the "person I knew" came round the corner so we all relaxed and headed to join the throng at the doorway, but then she stopped, looked up and did a U turn back to her car. What was she doing, where was she going had she made the same mistake? Come back person I don't know well enough to ask! We were all moving one way now and there was no going back for us.
Another ten minutes of unbearable tension as we made small talk with the "millers" whilst trying not to mention key words like, Maureen and Steve. At last we were asked to come through to the garden at the back where another fifty people were standing, including the bride and groom who I did know. I thought it was one thirty I said.
The ceremony was the shortest I have ever been to. It was peppered with adults laughing, children crying, jumping, singing, and one shouting out "are they married now ...are we married now?" and a belter from the brides Mum ( I think) who, at the bit when we are asked if we know of any lawful reason why..., shouted "he's a drug dealer!"
The registrar looked like she wanted to be somewhere else, like Morrisons check out. Her lack of interest was palpable and she spoke with that same crescendo and decrescendo which air stewardesses use. "Welcome to THE WEDDING OF steve and maureen... and NOW, we come to THE LEGAL PART of the ceremony, ... and the exit doors ARE HERE, here and HERE." She might as well have been talking about sick bags, it would have been equally poignant.
The vows and things were said with the speed of a couple who had their eyes on the food and drink! I wanted to shout, "look behind you, there's people here, give us some sort of a show, some music, a short poem perhaps". But the combined drive of the happy couple and the "yeh-whatever" of the registrar meant that it was over before I had time to get uncomfortable in my shoes.

The rest of the day was lovely, the food fantastic, the place beautiful with grounds for the kids to run around in, then back to their house for more fun. Football for the boys, pirates of the caribbean (Depp and Bloom) for the girls, food and beer for us. But as the evening wore on my soberness became more acute, I didn't seem to want to cuddle people as much as others did, or to talk so loudly or dance on the table or show my tits to strangers. So I dragged my happy husband and three happy children away from new found friends so that I could get home in time to get drunk, cuddle people, dance on the table and show my tits before I fell asleep.

As we left I heard Maureen desperately trying to reassure the best man: "No really, it was lovely,... no, but funny is not your strength, you're more emotional and sweet". I suspect though that later as she danced, tits out, on the table, her words were less reassuring.


Rx