Although some might disagree, I also think that a couple of cats are useful in this regard, as they can keep the number of uninvited guests down to minimum (it can sometimes be difficult to control the birds, in my experience, as they can be _very_ persistent_ around bedding time).
On a completely different note, I'm told by those in the know that there's a big wedding going on today in London town. I'd not noticed any coverage myself, and was due to take a turn in the Doily Mines today, but apparently it's a Bank Holiday, so I've declined. The Archdruid, who's a bit grumpy about the whole thing, tried to insist that as it's "volunteer work", there should be no time off, but, taking my life (and my shins) in my hands, I have over-ruled her, declaring the day a Community Holiday.
The Archdruid, you understand, isn't a big fan of weddings, but Mrs Hnaef and I coming up for our 16th wedding anniversary, and we're very happy. No, really. We take time together, we take time to ourselves (the entirety of Lent, this year, as it happens), and we wouldn't be without each other. And the wedding was the start of that. We did the "big thing": partly for us, partly for friends and family. I mean, you only get married once, right? Well, that's our plan, and we invited all of those we love, and those who love us (of whom several of the latter, including my father, who was conducting the ceremony, kept asking my bride-to-be questions such as "are you really, really sure?", and giving her helpful advice like "it's not to late to change your mind, you know"). The future Mrs Hnaef started on the champagne at breakfast (that's _real_ breakfast, at 8 o'clock, not the one after the wedding), but I was too scared to have more than a half of stout before the service. But we both went through with it, she nearly gave my grandfather (the one who thought eating ice-cubes gives you leprosy) a heart attack when he thought she winked at him, the choir sang, the organ played, the preacher (my previous director of studies) gave a _terrible_ and theologically very suspect sermon, and we said our vows in front of the assembled multitude. And I was the happiest man in the world. As was the new Mrs Hnaef. Well, woman, anyway: it was a Church of England wedding, and they aren't putting up with that sort of thing then, though I'm sure they're entirely happy about it these days.
Even my mother-in-law was happy - not a phrase you'll hear me utter very often - and not just because she'd also been on the champagne (and possibly gin) from breakfast time. Happiest of all, possibly, were some of Mrs Hnaef's Liverpool-based cousins who my father mistook for porters and tipped for carrying some bags. Aunt Amy (a Liverpool aunt) lost her handbag and a high-heeled shoe in the flowerbeds, but found them in the morning, and one of the afore-mentioned cousins slept in a bath on a college staircase somewhere, so what more could we all have hoped for?
And in the morning, Mrs Hnaef and I headed off to a little cottage in the Cotswolds for the week of rare breeds farms, hawking, torrential rain, powercuts, cribbage and being forced to read my favourite science fiction novel ("If I'd known it was this rubbish, I wouldn't have married you: is it too early for a divorce?") that would characterise the rest of our marriage.
Was the wedding a big hoo-har? Yes. Was it a nightmare to arrange? Yes. Was it expensive? Yes. But I've never regretted it for a moment, and, I suspect, despite her protestations, that the same goes for my lovely bride. Who never did say "obey", in the end.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8
Yes, but did *you?*
ReplyDelete