I should have known straightaway that my wedding wasn’t going to go to plan, when my hairdresser announced (whilst setting my hair in curlers) that she urgently needed to go to be her daughter’s birthing partner. Did I panic? Of course, I did! She not only had to finish my hair, but was also scheduled to style my mother and the bridesmaids.
After a manic twenty minutes of attempting to transform me into a fairy tale princess, she was out the door, leaving me looking more like Medusa. My mother and the bridesmaids hastily attempted to sort their own hair out, all looking a little too relieved that they wouldn’t have to match my new style.
Things did not progress well, when my chief bridesmaid caught her hair alight and singed an eyebrow, whilst lighting a cigarette in a haze of hairspray. Attempting to achieve damage limitation, we drew in her missing eyebrow and placed a huge flower clip on her head to cover the bald patch. Calmness seemed like a thing of the past, as we watched one of the other bridesmaids suddenly taking on a patchy appearance. As the morning progressed, it appeared to get worse and she decided to mention that she had tried a sample packet of tanning cream from a magazine; rather than wiping it in evenly she had just given her face a once over without checking for gaps.
The morning passed far too quickly and soon the cars arrived to take my bridesmaids and me (whom my family now referred to as ‘Medusa and the Misfits) to the church. The car was beautiful. It had originally belonged to the Queen Mother. I felt like royalty riding in it, until I noticed ‘Looking for a Cougar? Call here’ written in biro on the back of the seat in front.
On arrival at the church, I was surprised to find a group of solemnly dressed elderly people at the back of the church. On further investigation, it appeared they had got the time wrong for a funeral and as it was too far to walk back to the retirement home, they had decided they would stay and watch my wedding. What could I say?
The church was packed with our nearest and dearest and I was eager to get the show on the road. I could see my beloved waiting patiently at the altar, and not wanting to give him any opportunity to change his mind, I frogmarched my father down the aisle, only to be told to go back and wait for the vicar to lead us. The vicar was rather a nervous man, who had an unfortunate habit of picking his ear whilst he recited the vows. We tried not to stare, as it was obvious that he was oblivious to his habit. Though we did pick up our rings rather gingerly after he constantly fiddled with them on top of his bible.
The wedding was over and I sighed with relief as my new husband and I headed to the reception to have our photos taken. We had booked an old country manor and it looked beautiful in the wintery sun. Forgetting the time of year, I stepped out of the car to arrange my dress for photos, only to have the heavens open up and reduce my appearance to one usually favoured in a wet T shirt competition. The photos for my wedding are now safely kept in a locked box, hidden from anyone’s prying eyes.
We went inside to have our photos taken by the Christmas tree I had requested, only to discover two rather tall elves waiting to be included. Seeing the look of sheer horror on my face, the manager assured me that Santa was on his way. Aghast as this turn of events, we decided to move our photo session to the elegant drawing room instead. A quiet moment in time for my new husband and I to reflect in, during a day of mayhem. When we rejoined our wedding party, we wondered if we had slipped through a time warp, as now they were all the guests were drunk after drinking too much free Pimms that we had regretfully left them alone with. The male members of my family had taken to the dance floor and were happily shedding their clothes to Right Said Fred’s, ‘I’m Too Sexy For My Shirt’. My uncle could be seen leading the way with his recent triple bypass scar on full view for his captive audience. I had to step in when my great aunt wanted to join in, flinging her cardigan and slippers at the passing waiter.
By the end of the evening I was happy but exhausted and full of reflection of the day. OK there had been a few minor hiccups but nothing that had actually spoilt the day. Everyone had enjoyed themselves, even though they were nursing killer hangovers when the fire brigade evacuated the building at three in the morning.
I have learnt quite a lot from this experience and want to pass on a few words of wisdom to future brides to be. For a smooth and happy day without any hiccups, hire a wedding planner!
I find Vivienne to be absolutely HILARIOUS. Please go over to Seredipity to read more of Viv's funny, funny posts! Thanks for the laughs Vivienne :) Pleasure to have you...