30.12.12

Warning: This post is a mush-fest. You have been warned.

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What a day.

30.12.12 will be a day I remember until I draw my final breath. It was the day I got married.

It was a day of close friends and family, of heartfelt words and glittery eyes, of the start of adventures and a shared story and I loved it all. Every. Single. Minute.

The hotel we were married at in Glasgow was just fantastic from start to finish. They gave us a suite with a bath in the bedroom (just my kind of bonkers) and supplied a steady stream of celebrities for us to gape at over breakfast/dinner. The staff there were brilliant in keeping everyone happy/delivering gifts/keeping surprise kilts under wraps. We told them that my parents were to be referred to at all times as Lord and Lady (insert surname here) at all times, which they stuck to fastidiously despite the initial looks of bewilderment from The Mother and protestations from my stepfather. The Mother loved it.

And on the day of the wedding after walking a mile to Kelvingrove in the pissing rain, walking back in sunshine(ish) and getting dressed in a kilt with the boys despite being English, I wandered down to the the hotel bar, had a whisky and waited for people to arrive.

Friends and family started appearing, warm words and smiles were in abundant supply, various official people asked me lots of questions, to which I often didn't have a clue what the correct answer would be. So I smiled and said 'yes' a lot, which seemed to make the official people happy and move things along quite nicely.

The Girls both looked beautiful - classically elegant in the case of the eldest and edgy and cool in the case of the youngest who wore navy blue Converse trainers with her bridesmaid's dress. Elder daughter did a reading for us that reduced most of the guests, us and to large extent, herself, to tears, such was the warmth with which it was read. This despite having told me on reading the poem a couple of nights before the wedding "Well I'll read it, but you should know that inside I'll be pulling this face." She pulled a fingers-down-the-throat-sicky-face. I laughed and promised not to tell her mum.

The boys both looked ace in their kilts. The eldest liked the cut of the jacket, the youngest loved the Sgian Dubh. They both liked the Jaffa Cakes that I'd put in the sporrans for them. Eldest boy gave his mum away and youngest was my best man. They both did sterling work.

And the bride looked stunning. Properly stop-you-in-your-tracks stunning. As soon as she walked into the room I could only see her. She smiled and everything was right in the world.

So we said our vows (for my part in several different voices, some of which I have ocaasionally used before in emotional moments, but most of which were a surprise even to me), we exchanged our rings, signed the register and got the living bajeezus photographed out of us, before retiring to the bar for a drink or two. Or three.

Dinner came and went in a blur of speeches, fondant this and reduction that, wines and coffees.

Then my real Moment Of Truth. The first dance. I did my best and shuffled around as best I could. My beautiful wife made it easy for me although the pirouettes worried me.

We spent the rest of the evening getting photographed, laughing with friends, getting photographed, chatting with family, getting photographed, dancing, eating bacon sarnies, getting photographed, wondering where the kids were, snatched moments and coruscating smiles with the love of my life.

And all too soon the day was done.

So the woman who came into my life as The Future Mrs Adventures and then became The Imminent Mrs Adventures, is now Mrs Adventures (or am I Mr Auntiegwen?) and I am the happiest man on the face of the Earth.

NDC