Tuesday, May 27, 2008

The wedding.

Text message from 5x: "I don't care who asks you, if I find you have seen the Sex And The City movie I will find you and I will hurt you. Do you understand?"

Reply: "Does that mean I have to cancel Friday?"

His reply: "Just the appointment. Not the day. I need it."

Well I'm back with you, enbosomed by my lonely palace and ready to tell the tale of Johnny and Aisling's wedding.

The last week has been a maelstrom of insanity, from the collecting of the suits last midweek to the leaving of Johnny's flat in Dublin at 1am this morning.

The suits collected, we headed to the pub for some refreshments, and proceeded to get refreshed off our box. I was feeling a bit below standard so I didn't tarry long, wanting to save myself for the upcoming nuptials.

And so to Thursday. I hopped on a shiny train to Castlerea to be picked up by the bride. She greeted me in a frazzled and unearthly state, the hasslings of the occasion clearly leaving her bewildered. She was back to her best when we landed at the hotel in Ballinlough, though, and I quickly made myself at home with Johnny's in-laws.

The night came and Sean, pater to the groom, ushered me over to the pub across the road. He threw a pint of lager beer down in front of me, asking me what I wanted with that?

"Jameson."

Oh Jesus. We got substantially fuckled did myself, Sean, Johnny and his uncle Billy.

Woke up in a right state on Friday - Wedding Eve - and was pretty much alone with my hangover until 4pm. It was over to Aisling's then for a massive feed and more beer. The beautiful country setting was perfect for what was a serene seeing off into married life.

Then we went to the church for the wedding rehearsal. The priest, Father Des Walsh, struck me as a slightly more enthused version of the sergeant major from Full Metal Jacket. He even scared Sean, an impressive man himself, with his constant "HANDS BY YOUR SIDES AT ALL TIMES OR I'LL FUCKING SWING FOR YOU!" Well, words to that effect.

Thankfully that didn't last too long as I was in dire need of a fart, so I quickened to the jacks in the sacristy for the holy mother of all ablutions.

Friday night and myself and Johnny were under strict guidelines to be good. I stuck to the water as my stomach had yet to settle down, save for a last gasp pint of stout. Nice. Later that same night and Owen Cowzer forewent his trousers as he piled into the room with Danny Quinn and onto Johnny's bed.

The groom took it well, but it was an uneasy sleep for what was to be his wedding day.

= = =

And so it came to be Saturday. I remember waking early and staying stuck to the bed, paralysed by fear that I would prove the worst best man in history, that I'd start off Johnny and Aisling's marriage by forgetting the rings or cracking one off during a quiet moment of reflection at the mass.

Thankfully, my bowels had steadied themselves and the rings ended up on the fingers with ne'er a fuck up in sight.

74,414 photos later we headed for the beach at Salthill. It was an hour and a half drive but it passed fleetingly in the excellent company of Aaron, boyfriend and future husband of Johnny's sister Jill. 192,354 beach photos later and we landed at the hotel (got lost first) whereupon I pressed the flesh and made nice with the guests.

The speeches came and went - my own was well received and garnered 10 points from the Norwegian jury - and then the madness.

I began drinking and drinking and drinking to the point where I was affected by alcohol. I was luckily alert enough to spot Danny with an engraved champagne glass, stolen from the bridal suite. He and his brother Deccie got in by stealing the key from Johnny's pocket while dancing, schemy bastards (they had earlier gone the reception route but were stonewalled thanks to Richie's warning to the staff to let nae fucker into the room.)

Anyway, seeing Danny drinking from the glass led me up to the suite with Jill and Aaron.

Toilet roll everywhere, strawberries mashed into the bed, toiletries emptied to the bath, champagne broken into. A mess.

We cleaned it up as best we could, before I went to reception. I reasoned that someone from outside the wedding had broken into the room, that I was blaming the hotel staff and I'd be taking legal action if the situation wasn't remedied. They replaced the champagne, remade the bed and put Humpty Dumpty back together, all before Johnny and Aisling were aware of a thing.
Got it done.

Anyway, soon after was bed and then up the next day for more drink before returning to Dublin. Called down to the lads last night to see them off and wish them well on the honeymoon. Oh, and I got drunk. Same old.

3 comments:

Rosie said...

i'm very impressed with you getting the room back together for them. if i were a man who'd persuaded some budgie to marry him, you'd definitely be my bridesmaid. well done, sir.

any crackers from the speech worth sharing?

Radge said...

I'd bride your maid any day.

No. That doesn't work at all.

As for the speech, I allowed myself a quiet smirk of satisfaction at some of the lines, but that's only because I'm a shameless narcissist!

Terence gave me the thumbs up, and he's a hard man to please. As for anything specific, nothing leaps to mind but I might post it at some stage. My documents seem very far away!

Terence McDanger said...

'Twas a good speech. It's easy to over-cook these things (like I did, hrmphhh) but Radge's was a perfect length.

Giggle.