We flew out on Thursday lunch time to Guernsey in order to attend the wedding of our friends Jo and Rob. It's been quite a wrench leaving the homestead for the first time, but one of those occasions when the head might be flapping but the body knew it was all going to be ok. In spite of arriving some two hours early to get some shopping done, we still managed to end up hoofing it across the airport to the gate, to arrive in a sweating, unnecessary heap having spent too long in the duty free. Doesn't matter what we do, we always seem to end up doing that. It was a bit :O seeing the little plane with propellors and everything - the flight itself was a bit bumpy but otherwise ok. Could have been worse. At least it wasn't as bad as the famous Death Flight of 2006 or whenever it was when we actually thought we were going to die on the way back from Golega one year.It was only the fact that we found ourselves in the impromptu position of looking after a young boy called Jorge that we didn't give vent to our base urge to PANIC.
The weather was forecast to be really rather shitty over the weekend but in fact was really rather nice.We had a bit of time to ourselves before the evening doings, which was to say the expected hen and stag dos. Bit awkward for me as I didn't know anyone other than Jo but also at least there wasn't the usual tacky hen stuff based on (not so) comedy cocks and such. For my part I probably quaffed a glass of wine or two too many an ended up hugging the bog in the early hours, which is always nice.
There was some concern as to whether Sid could keep Rob in a semi-reasonable state on the stag do but in fact he surprised everyone by doing exactly that; he's not ordinarily known for his restraint. They all got up early and went for a swim in the bay next morning, which was even more remarkable, while I had a wander about the town and hit the shops.
The wedding ceremony started at 3pm so plenty of time to arse around relaxing and getting ready - which for me involved among other things dancing around in agonies trying to pierce a new hole in my left ear. Owwwww. As in some many circumstances, persistence is the key.
I fully expected to start blarting as soon as I saw Jo in her dress, and I wasn't disappointed. I think I must have some sort of faulty valve or duct somewhere that causes me to mush uncontrollably at there slightest opportunity. Jo looked stunning and it was the fact that they were both obviously so ecstatic that did it for me.
There then followed what can only be described as a hike up hill and down dale and through a lovely walled garden to the reception, which is easier said than done while wearing what Sid so fondly refers to as "fuck me shoes". Lukily I had a pair of back up flip flops which came out very shortly after our arrival. It turns out that there's only so long you can wear a pair of fuck me shoes, especially when that time frame includes an unexpected hike of about 30 minutes' duration.
Poor Sid was bricking it about having to do his best man speech and it didn't matter how many times I told him it was brilliant, he was still bricking it. As it turned out, it really was brilliant! I was so, so proud of him as it's not easy standing up to (a) talk, (b) be funny and (c) strike the right balance of all things in front of 80 people but he bloody did it, bless him :)
It was a really good night, some highlights of which were the couple's first dance, which began is the usual cheesy smoochy number but turned into an excellent jive to Paulo Nutini, and a rather random, unexpectedly deep conversation with a Marine about religion towards the end of the night.
Next day there was a barbecue laid on in a meadow, ostensibly for a load of people who hadn't made it to the reception, so more grub and loitering with a large crowd of people whom we barely knew. I overheard a conversation which made me wonder if I'd fallen down a rabbit hole and found myself in Planet Daily Mail; one posh old bloke was talking about never having become accustomed, while living in Nigeria or Nairobi or somewhere else in Africa beginning with an N, to (and I quote) "having to queue up with the natives" in the bank and wondering why said bank couldn't have had a back door or something for the white people.
I expect it was a jest. It must have been, right?
Later Sid and I went out for what was expected to be a quiet meal a deux but instead we ran into some people from the wedding, had a couple of beers with them and then went out for a meal, during which a number of surprising things happened. Sid, still high from his triumphant best man speech, managed to blag a table for 8 by insisting on speaking to the manager (also French) where prior attempts had failed, sent his steak back when it wasn't quite blue enough, and then returned his (uncooked) creme brulee, after a long history of rather English-ly never sending any thing back, not wanting to make a fuss. I think the worm has turned! Dog only knows what will happen next. The mind, quite frankly, refuses to boggle.
This morning we awoke to news that there were no flights off the island due to adverse weather (fog). Arses. It's one thing going away but quite another not being able to get back when planned. We got to the airport anyway and were really rather lucky, as literally within minutes the fog cleared and our flight was back on. Finally got home around 4.30 and immediately set about doing the rounds seeing the horses, letting out the pooch and the meehoos and generally starting the long process of catching up. In practical terms this equates to approximately five barrows of poo picked, four litter trays cleaned, the dog walked and supper made. The suitacases remain resolutely unopened on the patio.
Back to work tomorrow, hoping the sore throat and general fug isn't going to develop into anything further, while Sid has a full blown rancid snot thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment