After returning home on Friday following a harrowing days work, I hopped on the tube to arrive at the boozer in Clapham for 6. My bro was already there holding a table and we were later joined by Frank and Harry, an old mate whose been having a few complications of late. We got stuck into the booze; I noticed that Harry had taken up smoking and regaled us with some tales of his recent life that were both sad and surreal. Nonetheless, we all drank heartily and despite a few woes left the pub in good spirits on account of being full of them. All of us were due to attend the wedding of our close friend Den and his missus to be, Rose, the following day, we justified our inebriation as a sort of pre-wedding warm up. It worked at the time.
The following morning I woke with a hangover, after forcing tea and toast down my neck I dressed in my finest suit following a quick bath and awaited Myfwt who’d been getting her nails permed up the road. Naturally she was late so instead of using public transport we were forced to take a cab all the way to Chelsea where we’d arranged to meet Andrea outside some hooray henry designer shop. It just so happened there was an oyster bar set up on the street so we bought half a dozen and wolfed them down, the hangover instantly vanished and I was ready to go.
We decided to eat in some fancy gastro pub thing, not being a fan of Gpubs I had my reservations but the food was okay, despite having to send back one dish on account of a fucking hair, but the wine was far better, so much so that Myfwt and I had another glass.
On time we walked up the King’s road to the Chelsea registry office. Both Myfwt and Andrea are over 6 foot tall, blonde and beautiful, as they chatted I enjoyed all the attention they were getting from passing traffic and pedestrians until it occurred to me that I was slouching in their shadows like some sort of deviant sex case. I straightened up and tried my best to aesthetically morph into proceedings by adopting a swagger. All was good.
A few of the guests had already arrived at the registry office before us, we were 15 minutes early so prior to entering the venue we had a couple of cigarettes and chatted to a few familiar faces I recognised from previous gatherings. After being ushered into the office Myfwt’s and I had a bout of hysterics over nothing in particular, Harry arrived and sat near the groom as he was witnessing the registration of their marriage. I caught his eye and he mouthed ‘have you a hangover?’ then gestured drinking, it was hilarious from where I was sat, not so from his seat.
The actual ceremony was short and pretty, the bride looked resplendent in a white sleeveless dress with a diaphanous petticoat and a pearl necklace, her hair was up and she resembled the glamour of 60’s Hollywood. Den was wearing a light blue suit with an open neck with checked vans on his feet; he looked epitome of cool, as if he’d just stepped off a sizeable yacht in the Mediterranean. Their 2-year-old son, the best man, was dressed identically to dad, a charming touch. He managed to fart during the silence following ‘if anyone has any reason why these two shouldn’t be man and wife…’ much to the amusement of the assembled guests, in particular Harry who did a sterling job pulling himself from the brink of uncontrollable giggles.
After the registry was signed and witnessed the marriage was finally announced to the guests who erupted in delight, we were led to the exterior steps of the office and the bride, groom and best man paused for us to take photos. I noticed that a passing double deckers’ passengers also took some shots grinning for ear to ear, it was quite lovely.
I grabbed a cab with Myfwt, Harry and another old pal fresh in from Paris, Bill. We were heading for Chancery Lane, to a little venue opposite Kings College, which was, despite being covered in scaffolding, imposing enough to warrant admiring comments from guests. After a period of champagne and cigarettes the guest sat down to eat. I was sat next to Myfwt and Bill, Harry and Andrea sat at the end and an author (top chap) and the wedding photographer, also a friend, joined us. The food was simple and delicious and punctuated by lively banter and wines, not too much, that was to come later…
The speeches were funny, beautiful, moving and of perfect length. Even I got a shot in, I read out a short poem that I’d written for the couple and I’m pleased to say that it was received as I’d hoped. Fortunately it also served in breaking the ice between myself and the guests I didn’t know as well.
It was now getting quite late, within half an hour of the room being cleared of tables the guests began to arrive for the evening jollies. The bar was free, much to everyone’s surprise and joy as we were all expecting to pay for our drinks. And here, dear reader, is where it gets a bit hazy.
All of a sudden there were old friends I’d not seen in an age, new friends that I’d met on the stag do and those faces that I’d seen around for years but it wasn’t until that precise moment you’d a chance to speak to them, and then realised they were lovely. In addition my bro showed up with his missus, Frank with his, Harry and Bill were on top form and Myfwt, well, she was fucking glowing. We spent most of the night together; we even danced, a lot. I don’t do dancing, I was monged. We even danced and had a heated hilarious conversation with Den’s agent all at the same time, beautiful. The wine flowed freely, the happy couple were just that, I hope they know how lucky we all feel to have been there. One of Den’s mates took me outside for a chat which made me feel as proud as punch, I returned back to the collective and chatted to an old friend who was working in movies, there were faces coming and going, I made a tit of myself in front of a famous one but he was just as wasted as I, the throngs were diminishing, we waved Den and Rose off for their first night as a married couple, the crowd was shrinking and we were still there, drinking dancing until I was alerted to my cab’s being and following more fond farewells, whisked off into the night.
I awoke on my sofa deciding if getting undressed and going to bed was going to make me be sick or prevent it. As I was trying to take off my trousers I realised that I needed to take a shit. No, not a shit, I needed to tinkle out of my arse. I spent the next few hours on a half hourly basis shitting through the eye of a needle, it was dreadful and even sitting here now, I’ll be happy to be back on 3’s and 4’s.
I got up officially yesterday at about 4pm, took a bath, ate some toast which was a bit of an effort and met my bro at the boozer in Clapham, the very same one that had kicked the weekend off, for a couple of pints. Both of us were feeling subdued, the highs of the weekend were crashing down around our ears as the bastard Monday morning loomed into view.
What a fucking beautiful weekend. Congratulations kids.