As foretold in the prophecies of Grandma

On the weekend of the wedding, I was somewhat surprised at the number of people who told my that they were looking forward to reading my account of events. I can only assume that they have elected not to bother actually experience things, and instead are going to live vicariously through this blog. Which seems very efficient of them. That said, it's a little disconcerting that Chris was one of them...

The first time I met Chris was right at the tail end of Part One, at a family gathering to celebrate my Grandfather's eightieth birthday. I distinctly recall that at this event, my Grandma was showing a friend around, and on introducing us all, she said, "And this is Chris. He's not officially part of the family just yet, but we're hoping it won't be too much longer..." I found that decidely amusing, and even moreso when Grandad later introduced him to another friend as "Rebecca's 'friend'". Tee hee.

Fortunately, Chris took all of this in stride, and so almost four years later, the time had come to travel for the wedding. Although, of course, putting it like that completely skips over several interminable weeks of conversations organising just who would be travelling with whom, when people would leave, what food would be required, and many other trivialities. Fun.

Packing for the trip was rather easy. One of the benefits of being me is that choosing wedding attire is extremely easy - I have to choose which cufflinks to wear (the Dalek links won that one), and I have to decide whether to wear a bow tie or not (not, as it turned out). The rest is basically mechanical.

However, I did make something of a mistake: I pondered whether to take either a belt (generally frowned upon when wearing a waistcoat - should be a cummerbund) or braces. To keep the kilt up, you see. In the end, I decided not to bother. After all, I had worn that kilt at a ceilidh recently, and hadn't lost that much weight since then. This whole "Clown Rule" thing is getting absurd - I'm going to have to get this kilt adjusted.

The Thursday night was not a good one. For reasons unknown, I failed to get to sleep before 2am, and then had to get up again at 7. Fortunately, I don't actually need to sleep, so that was fine.

The trip down South was nice and easy. For me at least: CJ had to do all the driving as I'm not insured on her car. There was an enforced stop while we (well, she) fixed the SatNav, but otherwise it all went flawlessly. It seems travelling with children has become an awful lot easier than once it was, what with the advent of the portable DVD player.

The apartments we were staying in were great, although finding it was a challenge. Somehow, I managed to get the notion that we were staying on the third floor of a building that turned out to have only two floors, and so couldn't find the place right away. It turned out to be just inside the main doors. Oops.

There then followed a gathering for drinks and nibbles, at which I wore my legendary t-shirt with frogs on. This successfully enticed a princess at one point during the evening, but she proceeded to wipe her nose on my shoulder, before crying for her mother. Such are the perils of being Uncle Steph/ven.

Later, there was a gathering of several of Chris' friends (and me) to move lots of furniture around. There were sofas to remove, chairs to place in rows, and then move around, and discussions about the same. Apparently, there was also work to be done at the marquee, but as it was quite cold I skived off. Still, it was interesting hearing the discussions about the content of the best man's speech - it seems Chris is far more of a rogue than I'd taken him for.

As the evening wound down, the rest of our party gradually arrived. First were the A-team, who arrived after a long but uneventful journey. Then came the parents, who managed to get within half a mile of the place before turning back. Still, at length they managed to get there.

But where was Graeme?

About 11:30 he phoned to say he'd been forced off the motorway by roadworks, was stuck in traffic, and was most likely two hours away. Huzzah! So, I asked his intentions: would he carry on even knowing he wouldn't arrive until 2, or would he find a place to stop. (Dad, of course, heard me asking this, and declared I should tell him just to press on. Such are the problems of working with incomplete information.) Anyway, Graeme said he would stick it out for half an hour more, and then decide. And so, we waited for a midnight call.

Midnight came and went, and then the call came. It turned out that the traffic had cleared almost right away, and that G had misjudged his position, and was therefore some 40 minutes away. Success! Anyway, Dad elected to drive out to find him, and guide him through the last few nasty turns, while I waited up for them to get back. (I figured I might as well see it through to the end.)

And so, on the Friday, I got up at 7, travelled for several hours, and didn't get to bed until 1. Not the best thing ever, I think.

So, Saturday saw me get up just before my 8am wakeup call, still rather the worse for wear. Still, a swift breakfast (Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes!) soon took care of that. At which point I looked out the window, saw signs of rain, and despaired. It turned out to be false evidence, but how was I to know this?

After a while, others stirred, and I ventured back downstairs to shower, shave and get dressed. On doing this, Andrew approached me to set up a policy for getting ready. Naturally, I agreed with everything he said, then proceeded to ignore him and do what I was going to do anyway. It seemed to work fine.

And so, there I was, resplendent in my finery, all ready to play, and a mere hour away from being close to the time I was supposed to be playing. Slight miscalculation there. Still, it did mean I got to enjoy the spectacle of poor CJ getting roped into ironing shirts for far too many people. (Not me, of course - my shirt had travelled just fine, and anyway I do my own ironing. I even have the scars to prove it.)

Finally, the time came. Out I went into the total lack of rain. In fact, it was a bright, sunny, and gloriously warm day. (Meanwhile in Scotland, Captain Ric got to play in the rain!) Just as I stepped out, Le Welsh was arriving, and conferring with Chris about where to set up. I recognised her by virtue of her looking a bit like herself. (That said, le Tart actually looked more like himself, or at least I identified him more readily.) Still, I didn't introduce myself at this point, as I had a tree to serenade.

Having serenaded the tree, and struck a suitably heroic pose for the purposes of being photographed, I returned to the front of the house and started playing. And this I did for quite some time.

The performance went well. Naturally, I stuck with a selection of simple tunes and old favourites. Plus a few fun ones thrown in for my own amusement. And, at one point I consulted with the registraar about how and when I should communicate with her on returning inside.

Just before the appointed hour, I returned inside, and made my way upstairs to where cousin RJ was making ready. My most important duty of the day was beckoning.

Well, true to her declared intent, Juliet was indeed ready at the appointed hour. She was wearing a fairly traditional white dress. The bridesmaid was in bright blue, matching the cravats worn by the groomsmen (a nice touch, I thought. Also, it was a very nice colour.)

And so, I returned to my position at the corner of the stairs, coordinated between registraar and bride, and then struck up for the processional.

Playing the processional is always the most nerve-wracking part of the wedding. Not only is it something that isn't done too often, but it's also the point where a bad mistake can have all sorts of nasty consequences. (Basically, whenever anyone is moving while music is playing, they'll naturally start moving to the beat. So, make a mistake, and you can throw them off their stride, which can be particularly slapstick when they're already nervous, and even moreso when the bride is walking down stairs.) But no mistakes, and she made it down to the centre of the hall without generating any amusing anecdotes.

The service was short, and struck me as being quite informal, but was well done. I was impressed at how well they managed to strike an intimate feel, despite there being almost a hundred people there. There was a reading from John Donne (who tended to write poems that weren't about what they seemed to be about), and another from "Far From the Madding Crowd". And then a song from cousin R. Oh, and I had a great view of the proceedings. Huzzah!

(It seems odd that the focal point of the whole weekend merits only a single paragraph in the middle of a very long post. Oh well.)

We then ventured outside once more, where the photographs were to be taken. Sadly, the taking of the photographs is always one of the least pleasant parts of a wedding. Lots of standing around, lots of waiting for people, and lots of organisation involved. But the important thing is that the couple end up with the best possible photos to capture the feel of their day, and in that regard they should have done well - the day remained quite bright, and the photographer certainly seemed to know what he was about.

Also, while the photos were being taken, there was a string quartet providing entertainment. On reflection, I think perhaps 'directly behind the band' may not have been the best possible listening position, what with sound being directional and all. Then again, I had an actual seat.

It was during this time that two legendary bloggers first spoke.

"Well played," said Steph/ven.
"Thanks," said le Welsh.

(At this point, I considered not speaking to her again, and instead saying something about "an unspoken understanding" in this post. However, I decided that that would be silly.)

It was also during this time that it started clouding over a bit. On the plus-side, I'm told that this actually makes for better photographs. On the minus-side, the poor quartet must have been quite cold. It seems that I had the best deal of all the musicians of the weekend, across many weddings of note. (Well, two.)

There was then a break before dinner. This gave me a nice opportunity to properly introduce myself to le Welsh. Now, when meeting people from the online world for the first time, there is always that little frisson of doubt. After all, this blog most distinctly casts me as the hero in my own adventures, and almost unfailingly presents me in a positive light. And I'm sure most other people do the same. So, then, what when we meet? Will we fall into the easy cameraderie of people who have known one another for years? Or, perhaps, will we take an instant disliking to one another? I must say, the latter possibility had cccurred to me as being not unlikely.

Well, it transpired that before I spoke to the blogger herself, I found myself talking with le Tart (there's definately something not quite right about those French pronouns, you know), about whom I only had second-hand information. Apparently, le Welsh likes him.

Well, the main thing I recall was his quip that he suggested he would tune my pipes in with the quartet, and play along. I must say, it was most refreshing to meet someone who's default assumption was that "I could do that". Most people assume playing the pipes is impossibly hard. (Which isn't to say it's not hard - it did take me some years to learn, after all.)

Le Welsh herself turned out to be almost exactly as I had imagined. So that was a relief. The "extraordinary detective work" quip, in particular, was quite good. We didn't talk about too much at this point, but would converse again later.

And so, we come to the meal. Sadly, the long-anticipated fish'n'chips had fallen through due to a frier mishap. (I'd been looking forward to it; I haven't had a real chip in six months.) Still, instead we had a three-course meal featuring tomato soup, chicken, and classic Eton mess. It was nice.

I spent the meal sitting next to the very lovely Meredith, the wife of a friend of Chris. Her husband could not be there in person, and so was represented by an old photograph and an iPhone. Have I mentioned that it was quite an unusual day? Anyway, we talked about airlines, Edinburgh airport, and how teachers apparently don't get enough holidays (?!). I think that seating arrangement might have been a moment of inspired genius; it would certainly prove useful later.

After the meal came the speeches. These were to be delivered without the aid of electronic amplification, which was a bit of a concern. And, of course, I had expressed some doubts about placing them after the meal. But they went fine. I certainly heard every word. And they were well delivered, very funny, and generally good examples of the craft. It seems Chris is far more of a rogue than I'd taken him for.

(I also have to take a moment to reply to something Chris said in his speech: no thanks are necessary; it was my honour.)

And so, we came to another gap, while the marquee was cleared prior to the Barn Dance. A gap that was filled with drama, as Grandma fell and hurt herself. Not so good.

At the appointed hour, I returned to the marquee to find le Welsh and le Tart already esconced. So, I thought, it seems I have some competition in the dancing stakes after all...

It was my first Barn Dance, and it turns out that it is indeed much like a Ceilidh. However, the music is rather slower than at a ceilidh, and there seems to be rather more emphasis on group dances. Also of note, and despite the predictions of CJ to the contrary, there seems to be virtually no overlap in the dances. (Although, during the interval Chris and Juliet let it be known that they'd arranged this with the caller. I don't know how true this actually was, or if it was just banter.)

Anyway, the first dance featured a bit where each couple was dispatched to pull a new couple up onto the floor. And so, shortly after the start, I found myself up and dancing with cousin Jo. And, when the time came, it was time for le Welsh and le Tart to join us, despite her initial protests.

Little did I know that this would be the only time they would take the floor! So much for the claims that, "the Welsh can outdance the whole lot of you! ;)" Still, that did provide conversational fodder for later, so wasn't all bad. (Also, in fairness, there was some evidence that this might have been the case. The Barn Dance features 'the Swing', a move that doesn't feature in ceilidhs, and which I never got quite right. As far as I could tell, only one couple seemed to have it mastered...)

There is a secret to Ceilidhs, which also applies to Barn Dances, and especially when you don't know too many of the people there. And that is to keep an eye out during the early dances for all those people who look like they would love to dance, but just haven't been asked yet. When it is my avowed aim to dance all the dances (and thus do my part towards keeping a full dance-floor; also a prerequisite for a successful dance), it is important to keep this in mind. This is where the seating at the meal proved its value, for there were really three circles of people at the dance: Juliet's family, Chris' family, and their friends. And with little exception, these three groups didn't mingle too much. And my family seemed distinctly disinclined to dance (boo!).

Fortunately, my sitting next to Meredith at the meal gave me an opening to the 'friends' circle, and thus provided me with a dance card for the night. Huzzah! And so, I succeeded in my quest.

At the interval, there was a buffet. I'm told it was good. Sadly, buffets are murder on diets, so I was forced to abstain. Still, I took the opportunity to remind le Welsh of her claims of Welsh dancing supremacy. Which is important, of course. We talked about many other things, including the relative likelihood of various other bloggers dancing. (Well, just one, actually.)

After the buffet, Chris and Juliet danced their First Dance. (Unusual positioning, I thought. Have I mentioned that it was an unusual day.) And then the Barn Dance was to resume. Clearly, I thought, the thing to do would be to ask le Welsh for the next dance. Cunning, no?

Well, apparently, no. Instead, she and le Tart took this opportunity to say their goodbyes and depart. Foiled! Snsn Frsn.

I made it to bed by midnight that night. Frankly, I'd been fighting fatigue since seven, so I felt I'd done my bit by then.

Sunday, I got up at 8am, had breakfast, and gradually made my way through the day. I had planned to head to the Games Room, but never quite made it. I did read a couple of chapters of my book, which is also quite good. And ate barbeque. That evening, we played Trivial Pursuit (the Genius Edition from 1983). It was quite odd. Also, we played boys vs girls, which turned out to be rather unbalanced teams. My team won, of course. Bed was at 1am.

Then, on Monday I got up at 9am, packed my bags, then packed the car, and then CJ and I (plus little PJ and the princess) departed for our journey home.

It was a very good weekend. On the Weedol scale, it rates five dandelions out of five.

(Congratulations, you have made it to the end of this post. I did say it was a bit of an epic!)