She Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby
When the doting dad says his daughter is not only beautiful but the most beautiful in the room you know he is being a doting dad and its the wedding. Well, on Saturday, she was and I wasn’t the only one. For Alex and Addy their greatest day and, for the family something of a test of status, ability and nerve.
The sociology of wedding extravagance is endlessly interesting. Some tribes of North American Indians pile their possessions onto the bon fire to show off their status. Every up tick of champagne quality performs the same role at a wedding celebration. I’m pleased to say we served prosecco. Lashings of. But down market the Brunswick House affair wasn’t.
The ceremony was short and simple. The proud brother, for once not the most beautiful, presiding over his princess of a sister and her dashing consort. The darling granddaughter playing flower girl .Lovely words, blushing dimples and the exchange of rings. That day we would hear words from the Dalia Lama and Pablo Neruda. In the back ground a flu ravaged Mum and a suited and booted Dad watched with the normal pride.
100 sat down to great food in eighteenth century splendour. The buildings day time job is as a warehouse for antique furniture so every candelabra had a price tag. Speeches were spoken and my fantasy to be a stand up comedian took a small step forward. A wandering band played the favourites and the booze gushed . Thanks were given, toasts were raised. More booze was gushed.
Then it was onto the cellar and harder drinks and the disco. At this point some of the oldies made their excuses and left. But the dj played on until the new day. Then the core forty made their way across the way to a gay club and once again ,this time for the boys in ear rings and tattoos,the beauty of the bride was the topic of conversation.
The family patted itself on the back, a rite of passage passed, love shared and a theatrical event staged, all well.