The Friday wedding spesh: the gory details
Okay, so obviously as usual I have to maintain the mystique which means you don’t get to see ALL the shots (email me if you want any more), but I’ve picked out the best moments of our day for you to see. From the top, then:
Mable the Merc gets a pink moustache (thanks Moon!):
Moon and Ali being very silly, part 1. It took me about 14 increasingly cross texts to get them out of the pub, too:
The boogie down the aisle (thanks to my adorable niece Lu for these pics). For some reason I seem to have ‘the claw’ with me again. And corr I could seriously ‘out’ some anonymous bloggers with these photos… you know who you are!!!:
The beautiful cake, forever to be known as the ’6am cake’, as that’s the time she finished making it on the day. ‘One day, the full story of that bloody cake will come out’, said Jen’s other half. Oh, do tell! But seriously, how gorgeous is it? God job, Jen, good job (and there’s that claw again):
Our first dance:
Mad Uncle Ali whirling me around the dance floor (you know it’ll end in tears):
…’erm Alg, you’re going a bit fast…’:
The moment it all went horribly wrong (look at his face, he’s going ‘Sis, what are you doing down there?!’):
Two really ugly gatecrashers. Oh no, hang on, it’s Moon and Mad Uncle Alg being very silly, part deux. Moon later decided that to ensure his lift home didn’t leave without him he would steal Mrs Lovely’s shoes. Every time I saw him after that he was guarding the shoes zealously. It worked, though, they got him home, where me Ma was exasperated with the giggly silly buggering about. Kids, eh?:
And here I am wearing my wedding present from Disney. I couldn’t persuade Hubby to wear his top hat mickey ears, sadly:
Well, it wouldn’t have been the perfect day without a little Disney magic, now would it:
Reader, I married him.
So finally, the weekend of our wedding arrived. Through the last year of planning and plotting, I couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect time. We’ve mulled and reminisced and remembered and honestly, there wasn’t a single thing that didn’t go perfectly.
Here, then, for your viewing pleasure, are my top ten moments from the weekend:
- Friday evening. The arrival of a whole bunch of our friends and family from the UK who crowded into our house to eat, drink, catch up and basically be very silly. My two lovely mates from England, Clare and Rebecca with their other halves, along with my Ma, my big bruv, IJ the Cocktail King and his family, and Hubby’s family (who had to go and find a pub to have something to eat when the food ran out, bless ‘em), and the wonderful Moon (Usher/Driver/Photographer extraordinaire) made me laugh until I nearly died.
- THAT dance (email me if you want a link to the You Tube video). I did wonder, as I was waiting outside the church for my big entrance, whether I had, in fact, turned completely mental. There I was, a 39 year old Mum of two, dressed in sparkly lilac and tulle, standing waiting to dance down the aisle in front of my nearest and dearest and the (soon to be very bemused) locals. Luckily, it went down a storm.
- Craig’s amazing service. The wonderful Rambling Rural Rector did us proud. He just perfectly understood that we wanted a celebration of everything we hold dear: family, friends and fun. He pitched his address just right, making everyone laugh (and cry), and quoting from bits and pieces of my blog posts, which made everything so personal. Just bloody fabulous.
- The reception. Wonderful Laura from the Oldcastle House Hotel needs a medal. The girl has obviously had herself cloned, because everywhere we looked, she was there: a calm, smiling presence, topping up champagne glasses, organising every little detail and just making everything perfect. Christopher, the Head Chef, did us proud. The spread that he put on was nothing short of breathtaking. The seafood was utterly amazing (the salmon and the little crab timbale thingies were to DIE for!) and he even surprised some of the fussier kids with chicken and chips. I can’t fault the hotel in any way at all. If you get the chance, go there. You won’t be sorry. Even though we’re probably the first couple ever to request two extra beds in the honeymoon suite, it was absolutely magical – champagne on ice, chocolates, rose petals sprinkled all around… when we finally landed there at ridiculous o’clock in the morning, I could have cried, it was all just so perfect.
- The band. Eoghan and Amanda and their gang were just fantastic. From traditional Irish jigs and reels (which got us all up and jumping) to a heart-stopping version of the Cranberries’ ‘Linger’ for our first dance, they were amazing from start to finish. The boys and their mates danced and danced (and lasted right til the end!). The band were also, incidentally, still on the dance floor at 2am when Hubby and I finally gave up and crawled to bed. Worth every penny.
- Ali dumping me on my arse on the dancefloor. My mental brother whizzed me around so hard that I managed to step on my dress and fall over. Well, it gave everyone a laugh.
- Seán singing Raglan Road. One of the locals, Seán, took everyone by surprise by getting up and singing a traditional Irish song. His voice was stunning, the band knew exactly how to support him, and everyone had goosebumps. It was the most amazing moment and I’ll treasure the memory forever.
- The cake. Oh. My. God. The cake was fabulous. Sadly, I’ve only got one very wobbly pic of it, but when I’ve got more I’ll post them here. Poor Jen got to bed at something like 6am after working on it all night. Not only was it beautiful, it was yummy too. The zingy lime filling had everyone talking.
- The craic. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever laughed (or cried) so much. Moon, Mad Uncle Ali, Clare’s Hubby R and my brother IJ were on fine form and we just spent the whole day with tears pouring down our cheeks. The locals were just amazing, welcoming all our family and friends and showing them just how hospitable Irish people are. At one stage, I looked up to see Galway C whizzing my Ma around on the dance floor, and Seán dancing with Hubby’s Ma. We really are lucky to have such lovely neighbours.
- The comedown. By the early hours there was only Clare and her hubby, The Lovelies, Moon and the band left with us. We had the last half hour on the dance floor by ourselves and it really was one of the nicest bits of the evening – winding down, dancing and laughing.
There’s so many people to thank I don’t even know where to start, but I’ll have a go:
To our wonderful, generous neighbours, for being open minded and accepting of our slighly left-of-centre church service, and for welcoming our family and friends in your inimitable fashion.
To our beautiful bridesmaids, for looking so gorgeous and doing us proud with the dancing thing!
To our Mums, I think every time I turned round my Mum was cleaning up again.
To my Disreputable Dad (who kept his speech clean as promised). Well done, Dad!
To the Lovelies, Clare and Rebecca and D-next-door for being the bestest friends ever, we love you x
To Moon, who took on about ten roles and performed them all with a stream of dry one-liners that had us all in stitches. You’re the best x
To Jenny my hairdresser for our fabulous ‘up-dos’ and Mary the superflorist for listening to all my demands and providing exactly what we wanted.
To Jen for our amazing cake (Mad Uncle A completely fell in love with her too – he emailed me earlier and asked if I thought she might marry him. I think C might possibly have a few words to say about that)
To Laura at the Oldcastle House Hotel (thanks for the Moet too!) and Christopher the chef, plus their amazing team
To Craig, our Rambling Rural Rector, the kindest, gentlest, most generous man, for accepting us as we are and making our celebration so special. No words will ever be enough to let you know just how grateful we are for making our day so perfect and for opening up your heart (and your church!), for suggesting the big entrance and ‘going with the flow’! x
.. and finally to my beautiful boys who looked so handsome, were such amazing hosts and behaved so amazingly well the whole day and to my wonderful Husband. I’d do it all again tomorrow. I love you guys xx
There are more photos to come, but for now I’ll leave you with this. I love this pic. The beautiful Little Lovely when she finally collapsed, bolt upright, in a chair. Isn’t she gorgeous?
Making up is hard to do
So this wedding lark, then. You’re the bride (well, you’re not, I am, but you get my drift). You want to sashay down the aisle looking fabulous: a little bit Grace Kelly… a touch of Andrea Corr… and maybe just a teeny hint of Jessica Rabbit for good measure.
My hairdresser, the lovely Jen, has long been shaking her head at my lack of commitment to the little finishing touches for my big day. I mean, I’ve been good and everything: regular hair appointments (well, okay, my two inches of dark roots were a bit of a worry, but they’re gone now), conditioning treatments, little trims here and there to stave off those annoying split ends, but it’s the decision-making that foxes me. ‘You need to cut out some pictures’, she pleaded, for the fifty seventh time while I sat staring vacantly at my reflection at my last appointment, ’”can’t you just tie it back?” doesn’t really help me. And frankly, “can you make me look like Cameron Diaz at that works party she goes to in What Happens In Vegas?” is a hindrance, not a help’. The poor love waited so long for me to purchase a hair comb for my big day that she finally admitted defeat and went out and bought it herself.
And then there’s the make up. ‘I thought I’d just do it myself’, I muttered vaguely as she looked horrified over the top of my head. ‘No, no, absolutely not. You need a make-up artist. I shall give you a card’.
So this is how I came to be perched, yesterday, in a dark room in front of an intensely bright light with a lady concentrating fiercely upon my kisser. If you’ve never had professional make-up done I have to tell you that it feels weird and rather ridiculous. You sit with your eyes shut while the most bizarre sensations overcome you. First she slops on something wet with something squishy. Then there’s various brushes that fluff and stroke and buff and poke. Then you have to shut your eyes while she pokes at them with something vaguely wet and pointy. And then she appears to want to force a brush into your mouth while you have to fight her by keeping your lips all stiff and pouty. Bizzarre.
Half an hour of having someone breathe into your face (I hate that) later, and I was finished. I had, apparently, a ‘smoky eye, with highlighting to the brow, soft apricot cheeks and a slighly-darker-than-natural lip with a hint of gloss’. ‘Maybe you’d like to see it in natural light?’, she enquired.
Well, dearest reader, it was all I could do not to shout ‘HOLY SHIT!’ when faced with this oddly colourful stranger blinking at me from the mirror. My smoky eye seemed to be made entirely of blue glitter, while the ‘highlighting to the brow’ was silver and shiny, right the way up to, and including, my eyebrow, which had turned a strange shade of ginger. My lips were slathered in wet brown melted chocolate and my lashes were thick, black and clumped together. I can hardly bear to tell you how orange my entire face was. My apricot cheeks were a stripe of glittery orange curd and my entire face appeared to have been slathered in a layer of powdery Dijon mustard. My hairline was also strangely powdery and ginger while my neck remained porcelain white with a fast-growing hot red flush of embarrassment.
Well. I laughed. Then I got cross and then I shouted and hollered and gave her a right telling off. I damned well berated the young lady for her lack of talent and refused to pay the bill into the bargain.
Ahaha. Of course I didn’t. I thanked her profusely, told her how lovely it was, handed over my card, then scuttled off to my car where I realised, mortified, that I didn’t have time to go home and scrape it all off before I had to meet #1 from the bus stop. He stepped into the car, eyeing my complexion, now a stunning mixture of hot red and Dijon and you could almost hear the cogs whirring away inside his head. Obviously deciding that women were strange creatures and I’d actually meant to come and pick him up looking like I’d slathered myself in blue glitter and then fallen asleep under a sunbed, he settled for ‘erm… you look nice’.
We drove home in silence, my bottom lip commencing a tremble that increased as we neared home. I smiled ruefully at my poor, confused husband who promptly almost fainted. And that was it. The tears started to roll, leaving fat, white stripes down my orange face and dripping into little fluorescent pools onto my lap. After a comforting bear-hug and several packs of tissues, I felt almost human again. Forgetting for a moment that I was now covered in wet orange custard, smeared with glittery blue and black streaks, I resolved to do my own make-up after all.
I’d like to thank winner of the 3.55 at Fairyhouse…
So yesterday saw both me and Jen setting out on epic cross-Ireland journeys to meet somewhere in the middle (bad planning moving so far away from each other) at a hotel where we sat, gossiped, giggled – no, hang on, there was something else – oh yes, and rolled 85 Order of Service sheets into scrolls and tied them with 85 little bows of ‘To have and to hold’ ribbon from the luscious Cox & Cox.
Before I left, Jen produced a heeowge box (she’s only teeny and it was nearly as big as her) which she said was our wedding present and I was strictly instructed to open it as soon as I got home. Apparently, she said, it wasn’t exactly perfect and she was a bit disappointed, but still, it was a nice present anyway. Even after pointing out that we weren’t strictly getting married (‘okay, call it an anniversary present then’), I was deeply suspicious as Madame J was somewhat squeaky and excited about this present. I actually suspected it might be a chicken. A heavy chicken, granted… maybe a chicken and a couple of bricks.
Well, dearest reader, the journey home seemed to take the longest time and finally I pulled back up at English Towers where I was greeted by two small boys (and one large one) who totally ignored me and made a beeline for the pressie. ‘What is it?! Open it! Open it!’ So with the chicken thing still in my mind I made them open it in the kitchen and I think I’m quite within my rights here to write OMG. A KitchenAid! A bloody KitchenAid!!!
Apparently this incredibly generous present was somewhat attributable to the racing prowess of two horses that Jen’s other half C bet on. So thanks go not only to Jen and the lovely, adorable C (who chose the colour – I love it!) but to Mark Anthony and Swift View for coming in first. I love you guys horses.
‘So hang on’, says #1, ‘last week on your blog you said that you wished somebody would give you a KitchenAid and here you are unwrapping one’. ‘Erm…yes, I suppose you could say that’, says I. ‘Right then’, says #1, ‘I want you to put on your blog that I want a 50″ wide screen TV, online gaming and the new Call of Duty 6′.
‘Done’, says I, ‘but don’t hold your breath’.
Wedding planning for duffers
So in a couple of short weeks I shall be tripping up the aisle (not literally, fingers crossed) in our pretty little church to renew the vows I made fifteen years ago to love, honour and erm…look after my long-suffering Hubby. We’ve had our ups and downs – neither of us have been angels, but we’ve survived fifteen years without killing each other (it’s been close on occasions), produced two lovely sons and, as the eminently sensible Revd Craig pointed out, that’s got to be worth celebrating.
When he asked me this time last year if I’d consider doing him the honour (‘properly, this time – church… dress… party – the whole nine yards’) who knew that half the fun would be in the planning. I heartily recommend getting married (or remarried or blessed – don’t let the fact that you already have the ring stop you) quite a few years down the line in a relationship. Okay, so the downside is you have to pay for it yourself, and I’ll never make a wedding planner (‘what do you mean the Rally of Ireland is on the same day as the wedding and we can’t use the carpark as it’ll be stuffed full of rally cars?’) but the advantages are enormous. In fact, here are my top ten reasons for planning a wedding once you’re mature enough to make all the decisions:
1 The dress. Every girl knows it’s all about the dress. I had a bit of a false start here, purchasing a sensible, grown up cocktail dress from Monsoon then lying awake at night wishing I’d bought the wedding dress of my dreams. After all, you only get to walk down the aisle once, okay twice. And hey, if I want to do it wearing acres of pink tulle, looking like a cross between Katie Price and the Bride of Frankenstein, then it’s my shout. I don’t, but I reserve the right to.
2 The guest list. Don’t want to invite that maiden aunt with the moustache who frightens the children? Cross her off the list. Let’s face it, by the time you get to your forties (6 months to go before the big 4-0!) you know who your friends are and who they aren’t. We’re delighted that we’ll be spending the day surrounded by the people that we love, and who love us back, and not with the people we felt we had to invite.
3 The service. Now it helps here to have a good relationship with your clergyman. We, happily, are onto a winner. Want a relaxed, child-friendly, happy, intimate service with lots of music and fun? No problem. Craig’s suggestions and ideas have added so much to the ceremony that we just can’t wait. And the locals secretly can’t wait to get a shufty inside the C of I church either.
4 The details. ‘I want the church full of flowers!’, I said to the florist, presenting her with my lovingly-made collage cut from several hundred wedding magazines. ‘I’d love the scent of beautiful lilies, freesias and roses to hit the congregation as they walk in… and I want my bouquet to be huuuuge and smell gorgeous and be full of bright colours: pink and orange and lime green…’ [cue sound of needle screeching across record.] Okay, so my original remit for the florist might have been a little extravagant. Flowers are slightly expensive and the sound of Hubby’s sharp intake of breath when presented with the quotation was enough to send me scuttling back with a slightly amended version of my original flamboyant request. These things cost money, y’know. The advantage is that you know exactly what you want. Even if you can’t actually afford it.
5 The cake. Don’t like fruit cake? Bit of a fan of Ace of Cakes? Happen to have an incredibly talented friend who just happens to make the most fantastic cakes in the world? You’re onto a winner. Jen and I have spent many a happy hour discussing the merits of white chocolate sponge with raspberry filling versus dark chocolate sponge with a lime-scented ganache. In the end we decided we’d have a layer of each one we liked. See, when you’re grown up you can make those kind of decisions.
6 The music. The fantastic night we spent at JD’s wedding convinced us that their band was the only one we wanted. It didn’t matter that they’re based in Waterford, and that there’s six of them plus a ton of equipment to find room for. We had to have them, so we took budget money away from other stuff and juggled the sums until we could afford them. You can do that when it’s your money.
7 The poncy bits. Don’t want buttonholes (‘why would I want a flower on my suit?’)? Don’t have ‘em. Ditto all the awkward, expensive and largely pointless bits that nobody cares about like favours. I mean, who actually eats those sugared almonds in a bit of netting tied with ribbon anyway? Cross ‘em off. Equally, if you want every car to be decorated with bright pink ribbon, for example, or have a friend mental enough to agree to sit with you and tie 85 bows of ribbon around 85 order of service scrolls then go for it. The poncy bits are all yours.
8 The grub. You get to pick the food you like. We’re lucky because the chef at the hotel didn’t run away screaming when he saw me enter our meeting with a clipboard and a list of requirements twenty feet long. Even better, he suggested fantastic local produce that we could incorporate into our wedding feast: beautiful fresh crab from Annagassan on the coast of County Louth… fresh local wild salmon and sides of beef sourced locally from the wonderful beef farmers of County Cavan (a couple of whom will be there with their families, which reminds me of my favourite conversation so far: ‘thanks for the invitation…you do know that I have five kids don’t you?’ Me: ‘Yup and we want you to bring them all along – don’t worry, we’ll reserve you a pew!’).
9 The chiselers. You get to enjoy it all with your kids. The boys’ friends will all be there and they’ve had enormous fun planning the day with us. They’ve picked out their suits and selected a couple of lucky local girls to share their ‘first dance’ with. The lovely Revd Craig suggested including them in the actual blessing ceremony and they’re breathless with excitement. What better way to teach them about the importance of family than to get them involved?
10 The fun. Oh we have some tremendous fun stuff planned. Some really bonkers off-the-wall stuff that will have our guests astounded and amused. Again, a flexible, forward-thinking vicar is de rigeur in this situation. But, I mean, blimey, it IS supposed to be fun, isn’t it?
Oh, but it’s not all romance and roses. We’ve had our fair share of doubts too. Are we mental? Does anyone really give a shit if the crab’s local? Is it wise that 35 of our 85 guests are children? Why have we spent all this money when we could have had two weeks on a tropical beach and renewed our vows barefoot on the sand with the boys in hawaiian shirts?
I collar the Hubby while he’s watching the grand prix. ‘Are we mad?’, I ask him. ’Would you have preferred the beach?’.
‘I don’t know’, he says, ‘I’ll tell you the day after the blessing’.
Oh.
The friday photo: the new Mr and Mrs Moon
So I know I’m biased, but isn’t this just the most beautiful picture? What a handsome couple, eh? And that bum! Moon said ‘do you fancy my Missus?’ and I said ‘well really, could you blame me? She’s gorgeous!’. Congratulations, you guys.
Oh and I love this one. Mrs M looks like she’s saying ‘hmmm… I wonder if it’s too late to change my mind’!! This was the bit where the photographer had to keep going ‘Moon! Look at her face!!!’.
PS: Oh and if you haven’t already, you must pop over to Moon’s blog and read all about it.
PPS: And by the way, these beautiful photos were taken by the lovely Bex: Rebecca Fennell Photography who comes very highly recommended. Email me if you require contact details.
Moon and Mrs M’s Wedding: belly laughs and happy tears
Firstly can I just say that I hate Ryanair? Hate, hate, hate Ryanair. I know, I know, it’s dirt cheap and all that, but when you’ve walked miles, queued for hours and then find you can’t sit anywhere near your children in a hot, sweaty cabin and there’s no room in the overheads for your hand luggage? Grrr, I could kill that feckin’ Michael O’Leary.
Awwww, we had such a lovely time. We went out for dinner with the Disreputable One when we arrived on the Friday night (after he picked us up from the airport in his swanky new 4×4 – thanks Dad!), then stayed at me Ma’s for the weekend. Arriving in the pub before the wedding was fantastic, seeing all my friends and family, my much-missed sisters in law, my lubly brothers, my beautiful nieces and big strapping nephew was just amazing. The church service was surprisingly emotional although I have to say that it was the adults that did the naughty giggling – the kids all stood together and shot us withering glances as we misbehaved – it was Hubby’s fault, he did silly singing, and then some little teeny girl went ‘I WANT A WEE!’ in a really loud voice which set us all off again. All went swimmingly apart from some rather bizarre parental goings on (note to my parents: I love you both madly but jaysus, go out for a coffee together and sort yourselves out already).
Mrs M looked absolutely stunning in a slinky green silk fishtail dress – I don’t care what anyone says there wasn’t a single pair of eyes that weren’t glued to her fantastically peachy bottom as she walked down the aisle.
The evening bash was full of fun and laughter. We had a total riot and the boys had loads of fun with their cousins. Mad Uncle A behaved himself (almost) – actually, Sensible Uncle I was just as naughty – and Mrs Sensible was challenging Hubby to down shots of Mrs M’s traditional 80% proof fire-water. Wow, it took your taste buds clean off.
Moon gave the longest, most boring speech I’ve ever heard (nah, not really – he made me cry twice which is probably a record) and then we all clinked glasses and shouted ‘Nastrovya!’ and downed the traditional Slovakian shot things (wow!) before stuffing our faces at the buffet, then dancing the night away. The Slovakian contingent held their own admirably in both the drinking and the falling over on the dance floor, but in true English fashion, it was all wrapping up by midnight – in Ireland we’d only just be getting started!
We rounded off a manic but happy weekend with one of my Ma’s epic Sunday lunches and then it was back to the airport with our Disreputable Chauffeur for another wrestle with our hand luggage. We arrived home, tired but elated, to find an ecstatic Bert who sang us a little whiny song, he was so happy to see us.
Highlights of the weekend, then:
- Stealing me Ma’s car and rushing round to my friend J’s beautiful new house to catch a glimpse of scrumptious little J and her new baby, M, who I’ve never even seen – we both stood and burst into tears, which made us laugh.
- My mate, C, taking the time to pop to the church to wish Moon luck and say a quick hello to me and Hubby (I wanted to cry again – I’m getting old, I think)
- The photographer shouting ‘No! look at her face!’ when Moon’s gaze kept wandering downwards
- My nieces, who have turned from cute little girls into beautiful young ladies.
- Above-mentioned niece, A, being bribed by Sensible Uncle I’s mates to balance sachets of mayonnaise on the head of Moon’s brother-in-law who was asleep in the corner after coming over all ‘tired and emotional’
- Boogying on the dance floor with my boys, me Ma, Mrs M and a gaggle of her Slovakian mates
- The scary amount of people who came up to me and said ‘ooh, I read your blog!’
- Moon, staggering around with a box of Montecristo cigars saying ‘this is the happiest day of my life’ in a somewhat slurry fashion.
So there you have it. A lovely weekend, a perfect wedding, and a very deserving couple. Here’s to you, Moon and Mrs M: wishing you a long, happy and very giggly life together. Mwah!
The heady scent of romance
So our anniversary, then. I knew something was afoot as I told you yesterday when the boys were making vague mutterings about Daddy’s present being so much better than mine. And yes, okay, he won.
For this to make any sense to you, you’ll need a bit of background information. When Hubby and I got together, I’d already been married (a short-lived thing in my teens). My poor parents paid an extortionate amount of money for my first wedding, a fairytale church affair - we’re talking Laura Ashley wedding and bridesmaid dresses (well, it was the 80s – we had white stilettos too har de har!), a fantastic reception, the whole works – only to see it crash and burn in an embarrassingly short amount of time. With this fact still very much in mind, and being a teensy bit aware of the fact that I was already pregnant with #1, Hubby and I decided to just sneak off quietly to the registry office and do the deed. No parents, no friends, no beautiful wedding dress, no cake, no reception, and, frankly, no money. I had a ring, but it cost us £40 and was so thin it wore down to evil sharpness over the years and I’d stopped wearing it.
Over the years we’ve talked about it and really can’t work out why we didn’t at least have a party, and have often thought that we might like to do it all over again, but properly this time. Imagine my surprise, then, when after I’d handed over the obligatory bottle of aftershave, Hubby produced a teeny (the best kind), gold-wrapped box and I unwapped it to discover a brand new, beautifully chunky wedding ring. The conversation goes a little like this (tissues out, people):
Me: Wow! A new wedding ring. Thanks, I love it!
Hubby then takes my hand and grows suspiciously serious. #2, who is STILL not back at school, is suddenly very interested in the conversation:
Me: What?
Hubby: Would you marry me again properly?
Me: Heh.
Hubby: Well? Is that yes or no?
Me: Oh sorry I thought you were joking.
Hubby: Well, no actually. Let’s get married. This time next year, on our fifteenth anniversary. Properly. A blessing, a reception, a party… the works.
Me: Yay! Partay! Oops, I mean, yes of course
[Insert big hug here]
So there you have it. Blimey, we’re getting married.
A wild, wet Waterford wedding
So this weekend, then, saw our lovely mates JD and his beautiful girlfriend E, finally tie the knot. We left early fearing the floods and were right to worry as roads were closed, diversions in place where roads had flooded, or worse, collapsed due to the heavy rain.
No matter, we made it in time to the hotel, only to find out that check-in wasn’t until 2pm. Oops. The wedding was at 2pm and we’d tumbled out of bed straight into the car that morning. A small amount of panic set in as I imagined us, still in our joggy bottoms and sticky-up hair, sitting red-faced in the front pew. Still, I’m a firm believer in a bit of charm (I’m a lover not a fighter), and a large amount of sweet talking and general sucking up saw us happily installed in our monster room with a good hour to spare (they knew the Englishes were in town – they gave us the biggest room, furthest away from everyone else).
Scrubbed (#2 took full advantage of the complimentary shower cap: ‘look, I’m a dinner lady!’), anointed and dressed in our finest, then, we made our way to the bar where the groom was already putting in some serious elbow action. We all managed to get to the church in plenty of time though. And what a beauty it was – perched high on the hill above a grey and brooding sea.
Ten minutes before the service, though, the rain went away and the sun came out. Surely a good omen, whatever your beliefs. The wedding was amazing. You know that bit where everyone cranes to get a glimse of the bride as she walks down the aisle? Well, she was just breathtakingly beautiful. I snuck a peak at JD’s face and he was absolutely entranced. JD has a musical family and his sister G’s boyfriend played the flute and the guitar as well as singing during the service. My goose bumps had goose bumps, dear reader, it was gorgeous. A happy crowd, we wandered blinking into the sun for photos and the like, before heading back to the hotel for Rosé Champagne aplenty. Now as you know, I struggle with the issue of trying to respect people’s privacy whilst being desperate to give you a glimpse of the action, so I’ll just give you a teeny view of the bride (well, you have to, don’t you). Isn’t she just beautiful?:
The new Mr and Mrs D’s beautiful little daughter toddled around looking utterly divine:
and some very sweet speeches followed: ‘everyone told me I should make it clear right from the beginning who’s the boss in our relationship’, JD said, bringing himself up to his full height in a very manly fashion, ‘so I’d just like to say, darling….. you’re the boss’.
Later, Team English strutted our funky stuff on the dance floor, waiting for the new Mr and Mrs D to get the sloppy stuff over and done with first, naturally. The music (again, JD’s sister’s boyfriend – this time with his entire band) was absolutely amazing – a great mix of ‘fiddly diddly’ music, as Hubby calls it, and contemporary stuff too. The groom’s three lovely sisters soon had everyone up on their feet:
and we danced until our feet were sore (the smalls gettin’ down with the happily sozzled groom was a highlight for me). Actually, the smalls made Hubby and I very happy, chatting politely with people, joining in the banter and generally behaving very well. At one stage I caught a glimse of #1 in the buffet room, deep in conversation with D, one of JD’s lovely sisters. They were laughing and chatting and I felt suddenly terribly proud of my little man. Ah, we had fun… we chatted with old friends, made some new ones, and collapsed exhausted into bed just after midnight. . Apparently they were still hard at it long into the early hours, too. Ah, there’s nothing like a good Irish wedding.
So here’s to the new Mr and Mrs D, and the beautiful little E. May they lead long and happy lives together. Cheers!
