Doing battle with daily dragons

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Wedding Crasher

I have become a wedding crasher. I have seen, before anyone asks, the eponymous cinematic canker of the same name, littered with dick jokes and the tiresome Owen Wilson. I, however, have not invaded a random nuptuals with the intent of seducing the available and apparently brain-dead. I'm here with the The Rock Star, who is here purely to entertain.

I like weddings. Despite being 30 years of age, I can count on one and a half hands the number of them I've been to. Since moving to the UK, I've missed most of my American friend's trips up the aisle and since folks over here don't seem to be the marrying sorts until much later in life, there have been remarkably few opportunities to buy a big hat, sink a few pints and get down on the dance floor. So, those of you I know out there who are living in sin and infamy, pull your thumb out and get hitched so I can shake my groove thang.

I've got a busy few weekends wedding wise. I feel almost as if I'm a student at the university of marital etiquette. I'm a fast learner, though; after just the first lesson I have already identified several key moments and figures required to make a reception a roaring success:

The Best Man Whose Speech Has Given Him The Confidence To Stay On Stage With The Band All Night Despite That He Is, In Fact, Tone Deaf.

The Point Of The Evening At Which One Or All Of The Groomsmen Remove Their Shirts Creating An Atmosphere Less Like A Wedding And More Like A Turkish Bath.

The Moment The Father Of The Bride Ends Up Wearing The Mother Of The Bride's Hat On The Dancefloor.

Any Number Of Guys Who Cannot Find Their Girlfriends Due To The Fact That They Are Currently Being Given One Behind The Rosebushes By Cousin James.

The Embarrassing "Dirty Dance" To Mustang Sally Between Aunt Millie And Uncle Albert.

And on and on, until the celebration begins to take on some of the more notorious excesses of Ancient Rome or a Parisian brothel circa 1903 and everyone not under the influence decides to bid a hasty good night and good luck to the bride and groom, who may or may not remember by tomorrow morning whether or not they actually got married at all.

More from the front line next weekend.