Category Archives: Wedding

Dancing Queen

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Yesterday morning our lovely neighbours and good friends Catherine and Martin finally tied the knot and had their reception at Rosie’s barn. It was beautiful and not entirely different to my niece Katie’s wedding a year ago, considering that she also had her reception at the farm. The rain kept off and the sun shone for the festivities. It was perfect. And today, whilst going through the photographs, I noticed that one little white-haired old lady had a spectacular time quite unexpectedly; the lady in question was Catherine’s mum and the reason for her excitement wasn’t altogether to do with the wedding. You see, she wasn’t counting on David the painter – and dancer – being there….

Nineteen

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I don’t know what Sigmund Freud would have made of it…

I was trudging up a long and steep hill, and, most peculiarly, I was wearing Chris’s bright blue plastic sandals, having opted to wear his rather than my own bright yellow plastic sandals. Disturbingly, Chris took umbrage with me for wearing his blue sandals and he walked past with a group of young women. I couldn’t catch up because I was so weary. Then suddenly I was in a shower-block, like those on campsites, and every door was shut to me because the women with Chris had taken them all first. It was terribly distressing…

Just as I was feeling my most wretched I heard a sound beside my right ear and I opened my eyes to see primroses on my bedside table.

“Happy nineteenth anniversary!” Chris said. “I had to search high and low for the primroses – they were early this year!”

He had been out before six in the morning on the hunt for the pretty yellow flowers that were so abundant when we married on the birthday of my dad and also my friend Sally – two days before Primrose Day.

Whilst I was still lying down, and adjusting from dream to reality, Chris assured me that he would never be upset if I wore his sandals but he would be surprised because he doesn’t have any blue plastic sandals and anyway, he takes a size 11 and I wear a puny (by comparison) size 8! And to prove that he would never go off with other women he proceeded to read me the poem he had written in anticipation of our anniversary morning rather than a bad dream…

NINETEEN

For my Darling Sally on our Nineteenth Wedding Anniversary
Nineteen summers, nineteen winters
laughing at Life’s shards and splinters
Each successive Spring and Autumn
practising all Life has taught’em
Every year the trials and triumphs
challenging complete compliance
yet despite these undulations
testing inter-marriage patience
All I ever loved and needed
while the months and years succeeded
lay right there within our marriage
and our vow to love and cherish
proved to be the one and only
guarantee ‘gainst being lonely
for, you see, since first I saw you
every day, I still adore you
Sally, sweetheart, you’re my treasure
finest friend and greatest pleasure
And, like before, still just as true
I WANT TO SPEND MY LIFE WITH YOU!!
My early attempt to hypnotise Chris when we first fell in love seemed to have worked. I wonder what Freud would have made of that?
From the bedside And more on the table

Sex on Legs

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“I know he’s probably too young for me, Sally, but I really like him,” said a bubbly friend of mine at the wedding reception evening do at Powderham Castle last night.

“Me too,” I gushed,”yes, he is too young – and I’m married – but let’s have another photo taken with him anyway!”

I’d already had my photo taken with him twice – near the bar they had a free photo booth and a dressing up box to coax the shy folk into becoming wild and extroverted. We found him by the photo booth and beckoned him back inside (just as the previous bevy of ladies had done). He didn’t require much coaxing. He favoured the two-horned viking helmet, which he’d worn before, but I fancied he would suit the cowboy hat (which he did).

“Who is he?” demure ladies whispered in my ear.

“I don’t know but he reminds me of a young Ian Botham,” I enthused.

“Ah yes,” they all agreed. “Is he married?”

(Back in the eighties Ian Botham was the handsome six-foot-two English cricketer who was always in the news for his exploits on, and off, the cricket field. A few years ago he advertised the breakfast cereal “Shredded Wheat” – “Good for your heart!” – and more recently I saw him on television advertising a foot bath (or similar) for old people. Not so inspiring as the old days…)

He wasn’t the groom, or the best man… or even father of the groom. His name was Charlie (like my dad). No, he wasn’t the Charles of Powderham Castle (Charles Peregrine Courtenay, 19th Earl of Devon) – gorgeous as the Earl is (met him years ago when he was a twenty-three year old student and rugby player) – but our Charlie was none-the-less charismatic.

“You’re nice,” Charlie said, kissing me goodbye on the cheek, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Now that’s what I call a gentleman.

Empty Chairs and Empty Tables…

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When the rest of us were all having a day of rest a good fairy by the name of Lizzie (one of my nieces and sister of the recent bride) went out to the farm and spent five hours cleaning and clearing up after the wedding reception on the previous day. Bless her! And she also joined us in the final clearance yesterday.

At last the work was finished and we all partook of the left-over cheese and biscuits, and roast beef, which had remained untouched, along with numerous cheese cakes, ice cream and other delights, in the two fridges. We washed lunch down with Sangria and beer (for the menfolk) and ended with cups of tea and coffee. It felt like another party. While I was taking after-the-ball photographs I was reminded of the sad song “Empty Chairs and Empty Tables” from “Les Miserables” but I wasn’t sad of course – just a bit flat after the excitement. We had had a ball.  “After the Ball” seemed rather more appropriate until I looked up the lyrics…

AFTER THE BALL

A little maiden climbed an old man’s knees—

Begged for a story: “Do uncle, please!

Why are you single, why live alone?

Have you no babies, have you no home?”

“I had a sweetheart, years, years ago,

Where she is now, pet, you will soon know;

List to the story, I’ll tell it all:

I believed her faithless after the ball.“

”Bright lights were flashing in the grand ballroom,

Softly the music playing sweet tunes.

There came my sweetheart, my love, my own,

‘I wish some water; leave me alone.’

When I returned, dear, there stood a man

Kissing my sweetheart as lovers can.

Down fell the glass, pet, broken, that’s all—

Just as my heart was after the ball.“

”Long years have passed, child, I have never wed,

True to my lost love though she is dead.

She tried to tell me, tried to explain—

I would not listen, pleadings were vain.

One day a letter came from that man;

He was her brother, the letter ran.

That’s why I’m lonely, no home at all—

I broke her heart, pet, after the ball.”

Chorus:

After the ball is over, after the break of morn,

After the dancers’ leaving, after the stars are gone,

Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all—

Source: Many the hopes that have vanished after the ball.

Just One Hitch – A Country Wedding for Katie and Javier

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On Saturday my beautiful niece Katie got hitched to Javier (her handsome Spaniard) at Mamhead Church near Dawlish and had her reception in a place very dear to some of our hearts – Rosie’s barn! It was wonderful. The only hitch, it seems, (as I noticed when going through some of my eight hundred odd photographs) was a slight trip up on Katie’s hem; James appeared to find it hilarious, as did those naughty boy cousins onlooking behind them (to the left of James in the third photo). They remind me of the children in “Giles Cartoons” – do you remember Giles? Anyway, I’m still too tired to go through ALL the photos but here are some to give a flavour of the day…

Preparations For a Real Country Wedding

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My beautiful niece Katie and her intended Javier (also beautiful in a dark and handsome Spanish way) are going to be married next Saturday but it’s not going to be a big affair in a grand hotel; they will be married in a tiny church on a grand country estate and have their reception in a nearby barn. Of course, it’s not just any barn, it is the most charming, colourful and characterful barn you could imagine; and it’s on Rosie and Slav’s farm (so it couldn’t help be lovely!).

Everybody has had fun mucking in (not ‘mucking out’) painting the floor, arranging flowers, revamping chairs, shining the copper pots and kettles, cutting the grass, putting up the marquee and making everything spic and span – but not too spic and span as Katie fears the country charm would be lost. She thinks the barn is perfect as it is. And so do I – almost – think I ought to make some more bunting. I have some pretty pink material and some white net with sparkles on it… not too grand.