Wedding Day

The day started early. I heard a knock at the door. It was my mum with a cup of tea and a biscuit. She placed them next to the bed, then gave me a hug and a kiss. Moments later, there was another knock at the door. It was my brother. He came into the room and gave me a hug. I then went downstairs to put sugar in my tea (you just can’t get the staff these days) where my dad was there to give me a hug.

“What happened to the great British reserve?” I asked. “I’ve had three rounds of hugs and kisses and I haven't even sat down.'

They all gave me a look as if to say, “Today isn’t the day for stiff upper lips, for straitjacketed emotions. Today, our borders are unprotected. We will not close off our castle, raise up the drawbridge, stand isolated from others. Instead we will embrace our Europeanness, accepting all, embracing strangers, kiss without quotas, hug without tariffs. Tomorrow, we can go back to being little Englanders, but today we’re the world.” (This was the very look they gave.)

After a breakfast of bagel and jam, I went upstairs to get into my suit. It was really nice to wear something that fitted me properly. Because of running I’ve lost my gut; this means most trousers hang off me like maternity bottoms. My waistcoat also looked pretty dandy. (In a diva episode I asked the groomsmen not to wear theirs, so I could stand out a bit in the photos. This was - as far as I’m aware - my only Groomzilla moment. I mean it’s fine I demanded they call me ‘Sir’ for the day and only speak when spoken to, right?) I also had my dad’s cufflinks on. These were special as these were the ones he wore on his wedding day. He and my mum have had a happy marriage, so I hoped these talismans would serve me well in mine.

Suited and booted, we had some photos outside on the decking, and were ready to go. On the way to the venue I wasn’t struggling with nerves, but my ears. Every now and then my ears confuse the ground for the sky and succumb to pressure. For the whole journey I was struggling to hear a thing and try as I might I couldn’t get the damn things to pop. I tried yawning during one of my brother’s anecdotes. (A difficult thing: he’s been travelling the world working for FIFA.) I tried chewing on an Opal Fruit (yes I know they’re called Starbursts, but I like a name that’s less showy – hence my surname.) I tried holding my nose. (This was fine for the car, but not something I could do at the venue. This gesture could offend my guests.) Fortunately, I’ve been to a lot of weddings. I know the beats and rhythms of the ceremony so well that I could probably do it without listening. Just say ‘I do’ when you’re looked at, and everything will be fine.

Our intention was to arrive early, have a cuppa in the pub nearby, then make our way to the venue. However the pub was closed. My brother and me said they were missing a trick what with wedding season being in full swing. If the pub trade needs advice on how to increase profits, then me and my brother are your guys. Consequently, we waited in the car park for my uncle and cousins to arrive. After a quick kiss and hug, we made our way down the lane to Coltsfoot.

On arriving there was a sign welcoming people to our wedding, accompanied by a stick illustration. I sort of resembled a Golliwog on the drawing, although I was not troubled by this. If my girlfriend wants to commit her life to me, it’s unlikely she is a racist. Or maybe she is, and her guilt is so intense that marrying a mixed-race man is her way of quelling it. No, she’s definitely not a racist. I’m sure of this.

Exiting the car, I was quite overwhelmed. At parties I’m the man who stands on the sidelines, holding on desperately to the person I’ve struck up a conversation with. If they go to the bathroom, I hold onto their leg, crying “Please don’t leave me!” So I found it strange to suddenly be at the centre of things. One minute I was in the car with my mum, dad and brother – just a regular Joe, a Mr Pooter, a nobody, then all of a sudden I was on the red-carpet at the Academy Awards: (“Who are you wearing?” “Debenhams Suit Hire.” “Can I have a selfie?” “Of course.” “How are you feeling about your chances?” “Pretty good. She’s been planning it for 15 months, so I’m confident she’ll turn up.”) Experiencing everyone’s good will towards me was special and very humbling.

We went into the bar area where my brother got me a glass of whisky. I thought about having a pint (of beer that is), but I had visions of getting it down me, and The Girl having to marry a man that looked like the end of a night, as opposed to the start of the day. I was then asked to go over and meet Barry and Brian, our registrars for the day. I did have some misgivings about Barry. I once went to see a fantastic comic called Barry Fearns who did a whole routine about how ridiculous his name is; how no one can take a Barry seriously. This was in my head when I met our Barry. I thought, “This is the biggest commitment of my life and presiding over it is a man called Barry. It’s like having a Chuckle Brother conduct a symphony.” Barry and Brian were great though. Grounded, warm and funny.

The time was now. I stood at the front in a bit of a daze. I could hear again. (Fi lent me a mint that seemed to do the trick.) The sound of the detectorists theme tune rang out, I felt the touch of the kings and the breath of the wind, I knew the call of all the song birds, They sang all the wrong words, I’m waiting for you, I’m waiting for you. And then the bridesmaids appeared, beautiful in burgundy, with smiles suggesting a happy secret about to be revealed. Tailing them was my wife-to-be. I knew nothing about her dress. It was the best kept secret since 'Who shot Phil Mitchell.' When watching Say Yes To The Dress I was ordered not to comment on any of the styles or designs. (I kept my end of the bargain by not watching any of the episodes.) She wanted what she wore to be a surprise. And it was. A lottery win, a special birthday, an injury time winner all rolled into one. Gliding up the aisle to the aching swoon of Dec’s Angel, she was everything and more. Elegant couture framing natural beauty. Breathtakingly beautiful.

Although we were flanked by our nearest and dearest, my eyes were only for her. I knew other people were in our orbit, but she was my sole focus and interest. After our first fantastic reading - Jim doing John Cooper Clarke’s I Wanna Be Yours - we said our vows. In all honesty I can’t remember the sequence of events; it’s all a bit of a blur. But I do remember Hayley, the harpist, accompanying Clea on ‘Your Song.’ I should say at this point that it’s purely coincidental that we asked Clea to sing a song from the man that financed Watford to the 1984 FA Cup Final. Until this week, I didn’t even know Elton John was once Watford’s chairman. Honestly had no idea. Honest. honest. The rendition was so tender and perfect, encapsulating perfectly the song's coda, ‘How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.’ Clea’s mum, Linda, then read a scene from When Harry Met Sally. (Not that scene, the other one.) And with that we kissed; our lives were wed. We walked down the aisle, husband and wife, to Lulu's 'Boom Bang-a-Bang.'

The Girl and I were then ushered away from the handshakes and back pats to have some photos. Sarah, our photographer, was booked because she had done such an outstanding job at Clare's, the bridesmaid's wedding. I thought I would be embarrassed about being asked to pose for kissy-kissy shots. Typically, my photo face is less Casablanca and more Dumb and Dumber. But the beauty of my wife, the sense of occasion, the direction of the photographer, meant I found it easy to channel my inner Bogart and plant roses on her lips.

We were then beckoned into having group shots. This was a lovely moment as it allowed us to have pictures with our family that we don’t see as much as we would like. Also, the friends whose texts and meet-ups sustain us during busy working weeks. We had a lovely photo where our guests made a Guard of Honour for us to walk down, which they then proceeded to make like West Ham fans and blow bubbles at us. (I’ve since looked at the lyrics to the 100-year-old song – and boy is it bleak. I’m forever blowing bubbles/ Pretty bubbles in the air/ They fly so high, nearly reach the sky/ Then like my dreams they fade and die.) Hopefully, this isn’t a portent for our relationship. Hopefully, we will flourish and prosper and not fade and die too soon. Although as a warning against ambition, of dreaming too big and aiming too high, it does suit West Ham - those boys aren't doing much in their new stadium.

After a drink or two, we were ready to be received for dinner to Carole King's 'Where You Lead.' (Usually I’m not received for dinner. The Girl just shouts up, ‘Your supper’s getting cold,’ and I run downstairs.) People stood up for this and wouldn’t sit down until we sat down. I should have conspired with The Girl to stay standing for longer, to see how long we could stretch the people’s patience, but I thought better of it and gave the lambs a chance to graze. Food was great. I had salmon to start, lamb for main and something vegetarian for dessert. (Just 2/3 of my meals and I’ll be a vegetarian.) Following this, we were ready for our speeches.

Andy, my groomsman is a Deputy Head and comedy MC, so he had no problem in getting our cheeky guests into line. Rod, the bride’s dad, went first. His speech was fantastic. He shared ‘it was an accident’ stories about The Girl, before moving onto a bat story that could be an origins story for Batman - if Bruce Wayne was a girl brought up in the Home Counties by public servants. It was then my turn to do a speech. Given the beginning involved mocking my in-laws; the middle ‘I'll have what she's having’ innuendo; and the end contained references only the wife would get ("Hello to Jason Isaacs"), it went well. This shows a Groom’s speech is a cakewalk. You know nearly everyone, so it can’t go badly. I could have done a 10-minute presentation of potential Brexit scenarios and it would probably have gone fine. With The Girl doing a lovely speech thanking my friends and family, my brother stepped up to ‘roast’ me. One of his opening lines was a doozy, the joke of the evening ("Bro, you’re now going to have to pretend to laugh at me for the next five minutes. After all, it’s what I spent the whole of your comedy career doing for you.").

 I turned to my wife and said, “He didn’t, did he.”

She said, “He did.”

When a joke is that well engineered, you have to just accept when you’re beaten. The rest of the set poked fun at my commitment to schooling and approach to carb-loading:  let's just say it had nothing to do with pre-marathon training. But his piece de resistance was his conclusion. Because of his contacts in the media, he managed to get a voice message from Countdown’s Rachel Riley and Strictly’s Pasha Kovalev. Now, I have a bit of a crush on Riley, but The Girl is a Strictly superfan. To have a message from one of the stars of the show turned a ‘ten from Len’ into a 11 out 10 day. It was a lovely speech, so too The Girl’s and her dad’s.

With the room reset, the stage was now set for merriment and mischief. Before the wild hedonism of the disco, a first dance had to be performed. When it comes to dancing, The Girl and I are chalk and cheese. She did ballet for years and has taught dance in school. I, on the other hand, have the hips of a geriatric and the movement of a corpse. If Daniel Day Lewis was to play me in a movie, no amount of method acting would prepare him for my left feet. I love dancing, but I am completely and utterly woeful. It was, therefore, regretful that we chose a four minute song for our first dance. We would have been better with The Ramones ‘Blitzkreig Bop’- I could have just pogoed for two minutes and be done with it. Of course, it didn’t matter. I twirled The Girl, she twirled me. I was lost in love. 

With ‘North Country Fair’ fading, we segued into Hall & Oates ‘You Make My Dreams’ (‘What I’ve got’s full stock of thoughts and dreams that scatter/ You pull them all together/ And how, I can’t explain, Oh yeah, well well you/ You make my dreams come true'). We had gambled on the music. I resolutely said I didn’t want a DJ because I don’t trust them. At my brother’s friend’s wedding the groom had specifically said, “No Black Eyed Peas,” and what did the DJ do? Played them as the third song. Fortunately, our risk paid off. We had great lights from Matt at work, along with a great sound rig from Dec. 

I’ll never forget that last hour of dancing, where we had mass sing-alongs, congas, high kicks, huddles. I’m still laughing at our singing to 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. Garth and Wayne have nothing on us. Louis Armstrong closed the disco. And I shared Louis' sentiments.  During his vocals, I looked around and saw all the interlocking hands: couples, family, friends. I saw my family with hers; hers with mine. And I looked at the woman whose hand I was holding. My friend and future. My reason and purpose. My chin up and well done. And I thought to myself, What a wonderful world.