In spite of chasing misplaced button holes round Oxford (don’t ask), we make it to the Kings Arms in time for a quick stiffener before kick off. I say quick, but the wearing of a slightly ridiculous cocktail hat (“you look like a cupcake”, says the Father of the Groom) does nothing to procure service at the bar – I practically have to beg, which leaves no time for sipping so we’re knocking them back like rugby players (England 37, Australia 21! “Good omen”, says son 3 sagely).
“You lot look posh” says a large lady laden with shopping bags (we scrub up quite well); her eyes are firmly on our soon to be vacated tables. “Have fun at your wedding”. We intend to. Gin and tonic fizzing in stomach, we teeter across the cobbles to the Bodleian Library wedding venue beneath a sparkly starry sky (thank you God).
The night before, we had sent the Groom on his way with venison, chocolate cake, fireworks and the St Halletts port we bought for him when he was still in utero. The cork falls apart but the contents are sublime. We leave blister packs of paracetamol out in the kitchen just in case the port is banging the brain drum on the morning of the Big Day. The last hours had been spent filling teeny bottles of sloe gin for the guests (we’ll be OK if the heating fails, then), writing endless labels to tie to them, using protector spray on the serried ranks of new shoes (just in case it rains, just in case), practising readings, memorising the time plan, and going cross-eyed trying to stick on bits of false eyelash (just me, not The Men). No wonder we all have butterflies.
Perhaps the lashes were a step too far ..
Hats off to Len the Library Man, that’s all I can say. He is a totally new kind of superhero. We are gathered excitedly and whisperingly ready for the ceremony. The huge oak doors at one end are twitching a bit so we know the Bride is hovering on the other side. The Father of the Groom has the most important index finger in the whole room because he is in charge of triggering the music. He presses the button. Nothing happens. There is more jabbing. There is a clatter as half the equipment clatters to the floor. The bobbing bottom of the FOTG’s brand new suit can be seen as he ducks towards the floor trying to redeem the situation and sort out the recalcitrant cabling. Urgent raised eyebrows are signalled over the pews. If called upon I could sing “How Much is that Doggy in the Window” backwards – it’s my party piece. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve been called upon to perform. I’m just wondering if that gin & tonic was quite strong enough to fuel my vocal chords when Len comes to the rescue. Hallelujah! Some twit in the catering department has unplugged the all important music system for the sake of a refrigerator. This is one (and possibly the only) occasion when I’ll take my Champagne a little off-chilled, thanks.
With a soft 1,2,3,4 the Yeah Yeah Yeahs start singing “Hysteric” and we’re off! The bridesmaids are beautiful and poised, the Bride herself is astonishingly radiant, The Groom is handsome and ever so slightly emotional. Of course it is all perfect. It jolly well should be after all those weeks of thought and dreaming and planning and tasting. But nothing quite prepares you for the extraordinary emotion of watching your child promise until death us do part devotion to the love of his life. And watching the love of his life declare her love for your child. I am clutching a tissue and trying to hold it all together. The waterproof mascara makes it through the vows but a bit of false eyelash is now bungee jumping down my right cheek like a hairy centipede on a thread of glue. So much for that bright idea. I yank it off quick before the photographer picks me up in the background. At least, I hope I do. This is the photographer who seems to have chosen clogs as her preferred footwear for shimmying discreetly across the flagstones as she contorts to snap the best shots.
The knot has been tied! Mark Knopfler is twanging away at Walk of Life . At last! We can move on to wining, feasting, merry making and embarrassing Dad dancing. The Harry Potter fans are thrilled to find themselves on location. The rest of us went irredeemably gooey at the love and cherish bit and are soaking up the very real magic of a Christmas wedding – and a few glasses of bubbly. Hurrah!