I met Andrew for coffee this morning. We had the usual two hours of chat and laughs. He told me an extraordinary story which I don’t feel I can repeat, and lots of stuff I can. The story I want to tell, however, is one told to us by a chap sitting next to us.
Andrew, as I think I’ve said before, knows everyone. He’s incredibly friendly and can’t walk ten feet without someone saying hello. It’s his jolly and sunny demeanour that makes people smile when they see him. Martin was one of these casual acquaintances.
We’d been discussing weddings and funerals when Martin joined the conversation. Andrew said his luck at driving for weddings wasn’t good. Out of 13 he’d chauffeured for, 11 had ended in divorce. I suggested that Andrew should have some sort of loyalty scheme where your fifth wedding is free.
Then Martin told us the story of his wedding.
He and his fiancé didn’t have a lot of money when they were married, so the whole thing was pretty low key. Not that that stopped people having a great time. Mind you, it didn’t get off to the best of starts.
The priest (they are Catholic) turned up at the wrong church for the service. Subsequently, the bride-to-be turned up at the church before him. She sat, waiting and had a couple of vodkas, something that continued throughout the day.
Eventually, the priest turned up and the wedding went off without any further hitches. It was then off to the bride’s parents for the reception.
When it was time for the traditional toasts and speeches, they couldn’t find the priest. They also couldn’t find one of the bridesmaids. They searched the house, eventually finding them, together, and about to commit a sin that priests are supposed to avoid completely. They had only managed to get started with a clinch and a kiss, otherwise this would be a much funnier story.
Martin described the bridesmaid as willowy and very sexy. He didn’t describe the priest.
So, the speeches went off alright and everyone went back to enjoying the party. Except Uncle George. No-one could find Uncle George.
Now, George was a big man who, sober was lovely and jolly, the life of the party but, once he’d had a few drinks, he would become sleepy then more than a little argumentative. And he was missing. A search was organised.
I should add that throughout the reception, Martin’s new bride had been gradually finishing off a few bottles of vodka. I don’t think it had anything to do with Martin; I think she just loved vodka.
The search party eventually found Uncle George, sitting against a fence in a back alley, an almost empty bottle of whisky in his hand, his eyes closed. Having ascertained that he was merely unconscious and not actually dead, they attempted to get him back into the house. This was not easy.
As well as being somewhat weighty, Uncle George started carrying on, flailing his arms and refusing to walk. He was quite happy in the back alley and didn’t want to move. I told Martin they should have left poor Uncle George in the alley. And possibly given him another bottle of whisky.
Anyway, it came time for the bride and groom to head off for the bridal suite of a nearby hotel. There was the big farewell circle, which his new bride managed to stagger around. There were the customary kisses and hugs all round and, finally, they were out of the house and on their way. Martin hadn’t had a drink all day, but his wife was pretty much off her face.
They turned up at the hotel and Martin checked them in. Given they were staying in the bridal suite, everyone knew what was happening and there were smiles all round. Martin, feeling quite pleased they were about to be alone, helped his wife to the room. She fell on the bed and suggested he go down to the bar and get a bottle of bubbly so they could celebrate in style.
So, Martin headed back down and secured a bottle and headed back up. He was gone maybe ten minutes, but it was more than enough time for his bride to become comatose on the bed. He tried to wake her but she refused. She was, in his words, ‘spark out’. He went back downstairs.
He then spent the rest of the night with a fruit machine in the bar. He said the worst thing was the fact that everyone in the hotel knew what he should be doing but couldn’t help hiding smiles because he wasn’t doing it.
After we stopped laughing, I asked him how his new wife was the next day. He said she was very apologetic.
I hope I’ve done Martin justice with my version of his story. It was really very funny when he told it.
