The Bride's Dad

“Oh, I love a good wedding I do.”

A giddy aunt usually says this during a successful raid of the buffet cart.  I too, like a giddy aunt, love a good wedding.  I don’t care whether the venue is a church, hotel, beach or wrestling ring (I’ve seen episodes of Don’t Tell The Bride), it doesn’t matter; it’s the symbolism that counts. In a country of buttoned-up repression, it’s the one time us Brits can show our emotions. Whether it be the participants declaring their love or the congregation witnessing it, the wedding day consolidates all our annual feelings into one affordable payment (£50 in the card. Less if you’re only invited to the reception). 

Without the wedding day, there would be no outlet for British emotion, no reservoir for our tears to go; in time, the surfeit of tears would break their banks causing mass flooding in workplaces, shopping centres and gymnasiums across the country. Social commentators would ask: how did this mass ‘breakdown’ sweep our nation? How in Britain, a nation famed for its emotional restraint, is there a pandemic of tears? The answer would lie in the dearth of wedding ceremonies. The Church believes people should get married to have their union ratified by God; I would argue that people should get married so their friends and family have a safe place where they can be happy and cry; if people don’t tie the knot, because they deem the whole thing to be an antiquated ritual akin to a Viking funeral, then it won’t be long before we have lots of Michael Douglas’ running down the street tooting their AKs shouting, 'the world doesn't listen!'

Without weddings, this would happen.

Other than the therapeutic benefits a wedding day brings, it also provides people with a chance to shine. Personally, I’m someone who shouldn’t be the centre of attention: as someone who has done stand-up and is currently a teacher I’ve already tasted the celebrity lifestyle: on ratemyteacher.com I’ve been trolled by students; once in a branch of Costa Coffee a former student papped me and my current flame as we drank coffee; I’ve also been asked for my autograph (passport forms come with the territory when you’re a teacher). For lesser mortals that haven’t experienced the wonders of celebrity, the wedding day can give you a taste of stardom. 

My favourite part of a wedding is the speeches. Despite being like an episode of Mock the Week where only the men get to the mic, I’m always moved by this part of the day. Seeing someone shy and hesitant, unused to public speaking, stand up and deliver a tribute is profoundly moving. Those of us used to delivering presentations can’t appreciate the discomfort others experience in this maelstrom; the satisfaction that the couple feels hearing the speech and the pride the speaker feels afterwards is worth the price of the wedding gift alone.

Killing it.

The reason I talk about wedding speeches is because it is the subject on Hamilton Leithauser and Rostam’s debut album, I Had A Dream That You Were Mine. Leithauser is lead singer for indie band The Walkmen, whereas Rostam Batmanglij is essentially the sound of Vampire Weekend, providing production and instrumentation. With The Walkmen on a break and Rostam walking out on Weekend, the two have hooked up to form 2016’s most romantic record. (This statement is fraught with hyperbole. I’ve only listened to five records this year. I have no idea really if this was the most romantic one. It’s just people believe you more if you’re emphatic. I didn’t become a cultural tastemaker by saying words like ‘might’ or ‘could.’ My repute lies in ‘should,’ ‘is’ and ‘must.’)

Rostam and Leithauser.

I won’t be talking about the whole record in this blog because I’m hungover, and because I don’t know enough about music to talk intelligently about it. As a child the only instrument I ever played was a recorder; an auditory ordeal that led to my mum calling the police, which in turn led to the musical assault charge I'm trying to work off. What I will do instead is talking about a single song, The Bride’s Dad – a work of breathtaking beauty.

Maybe because I’m an English teacher, I enjoy narrative. I’m not very good at anything that feels discursive or impressionistic. In whatever I watch, read or listen to, I look for meaning. I don’t want something too mysterious; something too impenetrable for me to get my claws into. I want to get a grip of the thing, pull at it, dissect it, right down to the innards. I like songwriters that I can connect with: Dylan, Cocker, Morrissey- artists who eschew the elliptical, whilst maintaing the poetical.

The Bride’s Dad is a piece of wonder. It tells the story of the father’s wedding speech: something that should be customary and commonplace, however, is turned into a two-minute psychodrama, wrought by wondrous melody and lyricism.

It begins with Hamilton intoning:

My ginger voice was raw with smoke

They hid their smiles when I stood and spoke.

Immediately, the song establishes how the father doesn’t feel welcome. The convivial atmosphere has soured as he takes the stand. But why does he feel like he’s on trial?

Some sunny lawn, some Saturday

My face was flushed when I went to sing.  

The ‘some’ suggests why the speaker is seen as intruder as opposed to a father. Even though it’s his daughter’s wedding, he isn’t clear on dates and location. Everything about your daughter’s wedding should be etched into your consciousness yet his thinking is muddled. The defendant’s flushed face could indicate nervousness, but more likely suggests drunkenness – the pallor of the inebriate.

Wild Mountain Thyme,

But I was crying before the second line.

With the congregations’ eyes forming a noose around his head, this jailbird doesn’t give a speech; instead he sings an old Scottish folk song. By the second line though he is teary-eyed, overcome by the power of music – maybe a lullaby he once sung for his daughter.

The strawberry stripes across

My ruddy cheeks got em giggling

My eyes were red and wild and wide

As I choked up over another line.

He may have turned up to the wedding to fulfil his duty as ‘loving father’ but the man is guilty of dereliction. All he needed to do was get his act together for one day, to deliver a Polonius speech from father to child on how to live, on how to behave, instead he is playing an all together different part- Falstaff, the embarrassing drunk.

For years and years I disappeared

But tonight I’m here and giving my best

It’s all I have, the grandkids laugh.

Aware he has failed his daughter, he knows this speech is an opportunity to make amends. For all the years of neglect, today he stands beside her. The speech needs to do more than confer niceties; it needs to be powerful enough to serve as confession, apology, eulogy and promise: booze-sodden, he isn’t up to the task.

My linen vest is yellow stained

My teeth are chipped and my beard is gray.

The juxtaposition of the pristine ‘linen’ alongside the father’s degraded form is stark. The teeth stink tobacco; the teeth show fall; and the beard signals how you can't live hard and keep your colour intact.

Your mother left, she’s not impressed

The wedding guests are starting to get restless

And I think I’ve worn out my welcome.

The jury has reached their verdict and the foreman has delivered the ‘guilty’ sentence by walking out. Ironically, a folk song has divided the gallery, leaving our protagonist contemplating his fate.

But wait. There is a pause. The drum kicks. The vocal rasps. Defiance forms. One final cry from the man in the dock.

But I swear I caught your smile

From the corner of my eye

When they threw me off the stage

Oh I know I caught you smiling

I swear I saw you smile.

Was everyone in the gallery against the defendant or did he have the support of the person he desired most – his daughter? The repetition of ‘smile’ though seems more and more like the last roll of the lunatic. On a day when she wanted a normal father, why would she smile at this shambling shower? Is it a rueful smile – a “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him?” Was the smile just a hallucination of the father’s hope that all wasn't lost? Or was it what we the listener hopes: a sign that his daughter recognised the effort, that the execution didn’t matter – he came and tried, that’s what’s important.

When they carried me away

Through the center of the crowd

From the corner of my eye.

There is no dignity in the defendant’s exit. He hasn’t been able to shuffle out of this kangaroo court quietly. Instead, a parade of the man’s demise is made by the mob leading him out through the middle. The avuncular father of the bride archetype has met the same end as a failed dictator.

Oh I swear I saw you smiling

You’ll always be my darling

(Pause)

sweetheart.

I love the lyrics of Morrissey for their romanticism. Within his writing he uses terms of endearment like ‘honey-pie,’ ‘charmer,’ ‘sweetness.’ The pay-off of ‘sweetheart,’ therefore, is magic to my ears. The father’s behaviour has been ugly but he achieves redemption- from the listener at least- in the beauty of his intentions.

What a song!

Brides' Dad is on I Had A Dream That You Were Mine by Leithauser and Rostam

Reasons to be cheerful: a list.

1    1.   The ending of Room.
2.     Grayson Perry being a national treasure.
3.     Seeing Kitson play an audience.
4.     The prose of Alan Hollinghurst.
5.     Coldplay’s Glastonbury headline set.
6.      Scarlett’s win in the jungle showing democracy can work.
7.     Fleabag’s opening monologue.
8.     Seeing the joy of children learning to read in B is for Book.
9.     Alan Bennett speaking up for the state.
10.  Bill Murray singing in The Jungle Book.
11. A cup of tea when I get in from work.
12.  A tax rebate through the post.
13.  The twist in Hateful Eight.
14.  That Guedioura goal against Arsenal.
15.   Remembering O.J. went to prison anyway.
16.  The melancholic beauty of Flowers.
17.  The romance between Mullan and Manville in Mum.
18.  My mum and dad having a piece of Swanage to call their own.
19.  My brother being a Guardian expert in their women’s footballer world poll.
20.  The Girl passing her Middle Leader’s course.
21.  Reading more regularly.
22.  Having someone to listen when I feel defeated.
23.  Maintaining this blog every week.
24.  Hearing a class laugh.
25.  Hanging on during those difficult moments in a school term.

26.  Andy lending me all those books.
27.  My friends welcoming bairns into the world.
28.  JP getting married.
29.  Dec getting his stolen projector back.
30.  Watford staying up.
31.  When The Missing kicked into gear.
32.  Booking a trip to Sri Lanka with Kieran and Dad.
33.  Playing the quiz machines with The Girl.
34.  Faring well in pub quizzes.
35.  Appreciating my parents haven’t stopped parenting and supporting even though I’m a balding, old man.
36.  My warm, hooded top that my dearest hates.
37.  Getting some work done before school.
38.  Using my free periods to work rather than check comedy news.
39.  Feeling like my prose is becoming less purple.
40.  Going for a pint.
41.  Having a poolside holiday.
42.  Defeating all-comers in water volleyball.
43.  The school bell ringing on a Friday.
44.  Getting a vegetable samosa from the shop to celebrate the end of the working week.
45.  Making Sainsbury’s rue the day they gave us a Nectar card. (We took their summer offer to the cleaners.)
46.  Listening to podcasts in the car.
47.  Getting a good night’s sleep.
48.  Having a read on a Saturday morning.
49.  The Girl’s mean chicken noodle laksa.
50.  My consistently brilliant vegetable chilli.

51.  Doing the washing up as you go.
(No better feeling than knowing an Everest of dishes doesn’t follow your main.)
52.  Making The Girl realise that The Radio Times is the best TV listings magazine.
53.  The articulacy of The Strictly judges.
54.  Strictly taking X Factor to the sword.
55.  Len Goodman being a pillar of the entertainment community.
56.  Being upgraded at the tennis.
57.  Watching tennis’ greatest entertainer, Monsour Bahrami.
58.  Drinking with Watford fans before the FA Cup Semi-Final.
59.  Mo winning gold. And then winning gold again.
60.  The wonderful resolution to the tension of Kenny’s Olympic final.
61.  Laura Trott smiling her way to victory.
62.  Jessica Ennis-Hill for being Jessica Ennis-Hill.
63.  Andy Murray’s insane stamina and resilience.
64.  Browsing around the bookshops of Hay.
65.  Leicester winning the title.
66.  Phil getting his dream Champions League draw.
67.  Lovely people expecting.
68.  Jim starting his course.
69.  Friends getting new welcome mats.
70.  Looking to buy bricks and mortar with my tea and tomorrows. (Does that work as a term of endearment for your girlfriend?)
71.  The Girl getting a pay-rise. A tantalising step towards me being a kept man.
72.  1^st day holiday breakfast in the café.
73.  Stewart Lee’s opening 20 on Brexit.
74.  Walking down the canal on a summer’s day.
75.  My brother’s opprobrium towards my new summer shirt. (Envy is so undignified.)

76.   Watching Clare perform in Kilworth House.
77.   The gym teacher interrogation scene in Freaks and Geeks.
78.  My car pulling through another MOT.
79.  Becoming an official Dance Judge at FriendsFest.
80.  Reading my first Stephen King.
81.  Telling cracker jokes around the table.
82.  Getting a parking space near the flat.
83.  Going down to the car on a cold day and realising you don’t have to scrape the car because where you’ve parked is protected from the elements.
84.  Working with great people.
85.  A beer on a Friday.
86.  Getting my money’s worth out of Netflix.
87.  The rare occasion when The Girl has a chat with me in bed. (She’s a lovely conversationalist; unfortunately, she’s a better sleeper.)
88.   Being told that your meeting will be cut short due to bad weather.
89.  The lyrics to The Bride’s Dad.
90.  Mark Kermode ensuring I don’t see terrible films.
91.  Those odd times when I feel the spark plugs of my creativity are firing.
92.  High fiving correct answers during Only Connect.
93.  A good Sunday night drama that fends off the back to work blues.
94.  The endless buffet cycle of Christmas.
95.  Our annual get-together in Bristol.
96.  Michael Gove languishing in the backbenches.
97.  Danny Leigh bringing Camilla Long to book over I, Daniel Blake.
98.  Coming 456^th in my 10k race.
99.  The fact that most people would help their neighbour regardless of what their politics might suggest.
100.                I’m going to see where my Dad grew up next year.

Reasons to be (un)cheerful: a list of 100 things.

      1.   People getting excited about adverts.
2.     The alarm clock on a Monday.
3.     Broadchurch series 2 being a car crash … in slow motion.
4.     The Victoria episode that consisted of Albert riding a steam train for an hour.
5.     The Girl not changing the toilet roll, then when told about it continues to do it just for a laugh.
6.     The Girl pinging the waistband on my pants, then when told not to do it continues to do it just for a laugh.
7.     The Girl not emptying her Diet Coke cans properly, so when I go to do the recycling I get flotsam and jetsam all over me. Then when told about it continues to …
8.     The Girl forgetting to take the Nectar card shopping then …
9.     Forgetting to take the big bags shopping. I’m meant to be saving for a house, instead I’m pissing 5p up the wall.
10. The very real worry that I don’t make the best cup of tea.
11. My laissez-faire attitude to administration.
12.  Michael Gove, former Education Secretary, saying that people have had enough of experts.
13.  Worrying about myself more than others.
14.  The death of David Bowie.
15.  The death of Caroline Aherne.
16.  The death of Victoria Wood.
17.  The death of (your favourite celebrity).
18.  Bands that don’t put lyrics in their inlay.
19.  Not having enough time to do my job to the best standard.
20.  Feeling sometimes that my career isn’t for me, but then having no idea of what else is.
21.  The house move falling through.
22.  The fact that my laptop is so fucked that only I can operate it.
23.  The goalscoring form of Odion Ighalo.
24.   Daniel Kitson’s obstinacy towards physical release.
25.  Good friends having shit thrown at them.

26.  The toilet in my department always being occupied. I’m supposed to be a receptacle of learning, not a repository of piss.
27.  The amount of ‘Likes’ pictures of The Girl and me get in comparison to the blog I write. (Hours I spend toiling over a comma and then her gorgeous face comes along and renders it all redundant.)
28.  Having to circle the block for a parking space after 9. (A man of my calibre should have a reserved space marked ‘King.’)
29.  Feeling sympathy for The Royal Family after watching The Crown.
30.  Birthday cards being designed by idiots that add a ‘t’ to 'wit.'
31.  Bars putting ice cubes in my drink. I don’t need my water watered down.
32.  My shame in not going on strike this year. (I’ve been on every other teacher strike.)
33.  Despite believing in his politics, Jeremy Corbyn is unelectable.
34.  The British public’s sadomasochistic relationship with the Tory party. Whip me harder, Theresa!
35.  The Boris Johnson joke has gone too far.
36.  The Nigel Farage joke has gone too far.
37.  Donald Trump was never a joke – it had already gone too far when his parents discussed having a baby.
38.  The picture of Farage and Trump in a lift. Political hope: going down.
39.  The Tories moaning about the validity of union elections, despite their own leader being chosen in a cakewalk.
40.  Having a two day hangover after an hour on the lash.
41.  The continued presence of Greg Wallace.
42.  The ubiquity of Beverly Knight.
43.  The omnipresence of superhero films.
44.  The arm and the leg it costs to go to Vue cinema.
45.  I should be writing something more substantial but I don’t have the motivation to do so.
46.  The fact No, I can’t is my political slogan.
47.  The way I treat books as something to be completed rather than a thing to be enjoyed.
48.  Only listening to celebrities on Desert Island Discs, ignoring the charity worker ones because I’ve never heard of them.
49.  Not drinking enough during a school day. Keep hydrated kids!
50.  Buying clothes for comfort as opposed to style.

51.  Seeing flecks of grey in my beard.
52.  Not being able to turn my passion inside out.
53.  Being constantly cold.
54.  Feeling like I’m growing apart from people I like, trust and admire.
55.  Preferring silence to small talk. (Sometimes friendships are born out of small talk, so maybe I should be less prejudiced towards it.)
56.  Reading the ‘culture’ and ‘sport’ articles, then checking the news ‘headlines.’
57.  Wishing time away.
58.  Taking the phone to the toilet when I should be bringing a paperback.
59.  Saying ‘the pictures’ and ‘records’ to appear as if I’m above the 21^st century.
60.  Being constantly disappointed with my teaching when in reality I do a fairly decent job most of the time.
61.  Forgetting that other people in other jobs work incredibly hard too.
62.  Not learning my lesson with Booker Prize Winners. (They always disappoint.)
63.  I still haven’t been to the ballet. Watched a documentary on The Nutcracker and it seemed incredible.
64. Not making enough time to listen to music.
65.  Still spending too long on the Internet.
66.  I could offer to help my colleagues more than I do.
67.  Having a curriculum that doesn’t appreciate good books were written after the 19^th century.
68.  Chelsea’s dominance in the Premier League.
69.  The England national team. It’s the hope that will kill me.
70.  Laura Kenny not winning Sports Personality of the Year. 4 gold medals!
71.  America taking one giant leap for mankind - backwards.
72.  People not understanding what ‘refugee’ means.
73.  A corrupt media that punches down.
74.  My hair experiencing years of negative economic growth. Ladies and gentlemen, my hairline is a Great Depression.
75.  People putting their phone before the person sitting next to them.

76.  Letting Shakespeare down when I teach him.
77.  Falling asleep when I would like to read.
78.  Watford always being last on Match of the Day. (This isn’t a Gary Lineker led conspiracy; we often play poorly and deserve the Alan Partridge slot.)
79.  Obama leaving The White House. Whatever your opinion on his Foreign Policy, the man was smart and articulate.
80.  How a controversy can become a storm because of the Internet.
81.  The Beach Boys considering playing Trump’s inauguration.
82.  Rich actors who do adverts. (George Clooney, don’t hide behind your Human Rights lawyer wife. Look at me when I’m talking to you.)
83.  The ‘Breaking Point’ banner.
84.  Adults thinking it’s cute to behave like children.
85.  David Cameron rolling the dice on a game he didn’t stick around to play.
86.  Being in the shape of my life and yet coming 456^th in a 10k run.
87. The Left branding everyone who disagrees with them a racist, which only makes them more likely to be racist.
88.  People who reduce difficult political situations into a pithy sentence.
89.  Being inept with practical tasks despite wanting to be good at them.
90.  Kanye West making it hard for me to defend him.
91.  Morrissey making it hard for me to defend him.
92.  Ore winning Strictly. (He never danced in his life. Not at a disco. Not at a wedding. Not in front of the mirror to his favourite song. He never danced ever. He never danced, ok.)
93.  Paul Hollywood letting down his comrades.
94.  My puritanical stance on downloading preventing me from watching Westworld, Mid Morning Matters and The Affair.
95.  Looking down on everyone. (This is more of a height thing.)
96.  Not eating as many biscuits as I would like.
97.  Having a manana attitude to running.
98.  Not going to the pub as much as I would like.
99.  Worrying about going back to work during my holidays.
100.                Trump becomes President next month. This does not bode well for 2017.