bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

Ahoy there, casual lovers

Being a Londoner I am suspicious of air that I can’t chew, I need to be mugged at least annually and if someone isn’t trying to blow me up I don’t feel loved.  I was therefore on principle less than enthralled with having to trawl out to Gloucestershire, which could be on the moon for all I know, for Joe and Abby’s wedding.  The ceremony itself – over which, let’s not forget, I was actually presiding – took place in the garden of Abby’s uncle’s house or something, and those of us who made up what was effectively the Away support for Joe had met in Bristol to await a minibus.   Our progress was immediately hampered by having to hunt around for some girl who nobody actually knew and was known only by her description, which was ‘very fat’.   This was further complicated by the fact that as the enormous woman in question was very sensitive about her size, no one was to make any reference at all to, I dunno, cake retention, placing armed guards around the wedding buffet, or cramming food into your face like a panicking hamster.

She eventually turned up on the minibus we were waiting for, which was remarkable – and yes yes it was all listing towards the side she was sitting on and the chassis was sparking as it went over the speed bumps and so forth – and so our merry band consisting of myself, John the best man, Sam, Fish, Tom, Gary, Kate, the Calorie Fan and some girl John knew who was very friendly but later turned out to be mentally ill, weaved away from Bristol Temple Meads station and into the countryside.

It then turned out that we didn’t actually know where Joe and Abby’s wedding was, which prompted a group decision to drive round and round and attend the first wedding we came across instead.   However, several frantic phone calls and rather-too-hastily downed bottles of wine later, we arrived at the wedding, in my case perhaps slightly too exuberantly for a vicar, which I was for the day.   I’d like to point out here that I am not an ordained minister or rabbi or emir of any organised religion, but I look pretty sharp in a suit and talk a good game, which landed me the job of doing the vows and giving a speech in which I attempted to define love in terms of Tetris, Devon, and gravity in front of a pretty huge gathering of the bride’s family. They were all nice enough.  Lots of dreadlocks, but no actual black people. If they’d had a dance tent, you’d have thought you were at the Big Chill.  I’m sure you get the idea.

Anyway, it all passed off nicely. Abby looked lovely, whereas Joe looked like a man who had dressed very nicely in a vain attempt to cover up the fact that he had slept in a canal. I did mention quietly to Abby just before the vows that there was ’still time’ but she did the decent thing and married Joe just the same. After the service, we climbed up some hill to see a view or something.   There were a few more speeches, some nice champagne, and after a while a small, uninvited horse ran though the proceedings, which was an excellent moment.

Incidentally, those of you familiar with our second pitch just inside the Market Hall at Camden Lock will be sickened and angered to note that we are resting it for a bit – Joe wants to spend time with the Mrs innit, and in any case we’d rather gather ourselves for new and improved versions of the stuff we were doing on there at Christmas.  We’ll still be in the East Yard as usual, however, like guests at our own funeral, until further notice.

Photards: Top – Abby and Joe, having just got married up.

Middle: The bride and groom and assembled guests about to stuck into champagne.

Lower Middle: The small horse who wandered across the wedding party.  Here he is in danger of being eaten by the large lady from the minibus.

Lower: Some chickens.  I was delighted with all the wildlife, all of which is much bigger in real life than it appears in these pictures.