Going to bed at ten in the evening is usually a good thing, but not when you awaken at four in the morning and find it impossible to fall back into a peaceful slumber. Matters are not helped by your Mumsy, who happens to be sharing your bed and asking you daft [panicky] questions.
It rains whilst you’re at the hairdressers.
[the middle bit]
It stops raining and the sky turns blue. The air is crisp. People are nattering away in Czech in your living room and the car arrives far too early. Your flowers are more beautiful than you ever imagined. You trip as you get into the car … you knew it was going to happen, you’re so clumsy. There are pesky people getting married before you, delaying you, creating nerves in your belly that weren’t there before. You almost burst into tears before going into the ceremony room and don’t remember this till the next day because the minutes following this are just a happy blur. The Blokey whispers that you look stunning and he didn’t recognise you. The Superintendent Registrar pronounces your surname wrong and you correct it when you repeat the words; you catch the eye of the other Registrar at this point and both laugh. The Superintendent Registrar still pronounces it wrong, and so does The Blokey, causing you and the other Registrar to laugh again.
You hope this doesn’t make the marriage a farce.
Both Mumsy and the Brand New FiL almost cry when they do their respective readings, and it seems that The Blokey has forgotten to ask his Baby Brother [and BestMan] to be one of the witnesses. Bloody idiot. You talk non-stop in the car on the way to the reception venue but have no recollection of anything you said. You drink Kir Royale and laugh at the children.
By the evening your feet are killing you. Your Father spends quality time with grandchildren he has barely seen before. Everybody who means anything to you shares in your joy and eats the scrummy food your nana paid for. You haven’t stopped smiling all day. You find it difficult to indulge in your favourite tipple and as for eating … well. The DiscoMan hears your plea and makes everybody join you for the First Dance. Bless him. You fall into bed and read through your guestbook messages from the people who care. And then you sleep, tired but ecstatic.
You drink lots of beer, eat out in lots of restaurants, indulge in wicked afternoon hanky-panky. You make a little video in Anne Frank’s hiding place but it gets lost in CyberSpace. You wonder who uses the Neon-Lit Girls and you get drunk on a romantic candle-lit cruise. You come home with sore feet and willy shaped salt & pepper pots.
[the rest of your life]
It’s all a tad surreal really, like it never happened. Except there’s a diamond encrusted wedding ring on my finger and it sparkles. Lots.
Back to normal now, eh?
please God bless my marriage xxx Elsabeth