It has been a busy week. Firstly we had an exceptionally lovely wedding to attend, and then we had an equally lovely holiday to attend.
I know, right? How do we manage to toil on, working through these days of painful relaxation, exhausting fun and the relentless effort we have to put into enjoying ourselves?
Willpower, stamina and chips, my friends. That’s how.
And a teeny, weeny, violin…
Now, when I say an exceptionally lovely wedding I want you to understand what high praise this is coming from a curmudgeonly old bat like me.
Jason and I are not particular fans of weddings. We mostly avoid them where possible. It took us several years to get round to our own and we actually had a vested interest in ours. Then, when we did get married we snuck off to Las Vegas with the children, Jason’s best friend and his sister. It was all over in ten minutes, after which we put on our best eating trousers (elasticated waistbands for the win) and went to a Mexican restaurant.
We were eating to forget.
The forgetting was so successful, I can’t actually remember if we’ve been to any weddings since then. Apologies if we came to yours and have forgotten about it. We’re just terrible guests. We admit this freely. We usually get put on the back table, near the fire exits, with all the people they don’t know what else to do with on the seating plan.
Actually I do remember the last wedding we were invited to. We managed to turn up late, got lost, thought it was over, and then came home. No word of a lie. That is how good we are at celebrations.
Hopefully this puts the praise of my sister in law’s wedding into context for you.
Obviously, I’m incredibly pleased that Lisa and Bernard went to all that effort JUST to please us. That’s what brother and sister in laws should do, solely for my pleasure and entertainment.
I will even forgive them for having managed to prove me wrong on two counts; the first being my contention that weddings are universally terrible and the second is that I never enjoy myself at weddings. Damn their eyes. I have now had to give the wedding five stars on Wedding Adviser (and a smiley face). I can’t even pretend that I didn’t enjoy it, because there is photographic evidence to the contrary.
The day was glorious, the ceremony was romantic and funny and exactly right, and the meal/photos/party afterwards were relaxed and stress free for everyone, including (by the looks of it) the bride and groom. It all looked effortless. I’m sure that it wasn’t. To make things look that effortless, a great deal of hard work has to be done beforehand, but it was worth it.
My sister in law looked particularly beautiful, and more important, particularly happy. My brother in law looked very dapper (also happy). Obviously he wasn’t as handsome as Jason and Oscar, but you know, he made the effort and scrubbed up well, and it was always going to be difficult to compete with the two handsomest men on the planet.
Jason had to give his sister away and do the father of the bride speech, which he was very nervous about. Understandably so. Oscar was the ring bearer, Tallulah sang and Tilly had to recite a poem. They were all a bit stressed about the responsibility, but they all did an amazing job and I was so proud of them all.
I didn’t cry, but I did have to think a lot about narsty things and pinch myself fiercely to make sure I didn’t get something in my eye a few times.
All I had to do was make sure they all turned up on time, didn’t throw dinner down any of their clothes and nobody swore (too loudly). I achieved all of these things, wearing a large pink straw hat, which is a personal best for me. I don’t usually do family responsibility and accessories simultaneously.
Also, my hip held up, thanks to hefty doses of pain killers and champagne, and grooving was achieved before bed time.
It was really, really wonderful to be able to celebrate with two of the loveliest people we know and add to our small, but perfectly formed family. Bernard thinks that Lisa belongs to him now, but he has no idea how tight the Wheatleys hold onto their own. I’ve been trying to get out for twelve years, and the future is still looking remarkably Wheatleyish.
I’m glad to say.