Growing up, my lil' sister Lauren and I endured something of a hate-hate relationship. A 5-year age gap ensured she used to constantly "irritate me", while of course being the older sibling I was supposed to rise above it. Yeah, right. She went from having tantrums every morning ("Now you've made my knickers fall down!" - you could judge her mood by how high she yanked the pants up under her arms) through the rebellious teenage years and, a couple of slips aside (being called at a hotel in Arundel at 3am to have to drive home to let her in to the house...), maturing into a fine lady.
A lot of the credit for this must surely go to the chap who I am now delighted to call "bro". While she wouldn't admit it at first, it was clear she was utterly smitten with this Duncan fella at Uni. She'd come home for the holidays, and there would be one topic of conversation. Finally she realised what I had sensed for ages, and she and this behemoth became an item.
Fast-forward around 9 years to yesterday. I know, 9 years. Flippin' heck Dunc, you really dragged it out. Anyway, here was the day from the perspective of the brother of the bride...
Having barely slept on account of Madam choosing the day before the wedding to come down a bit ill, I had an early start, rushing around picking up the flowers for the register table and ensuring the Go Kart had enough petrol to get us around. I then had to tackle the kilt ensemble. Somehow between the previous day when trying it on and yesterday, I had presumably lost 3 pounds as it seemed a little loose, but I successfully negotiated it with seconds to spare before we had to head to the Lensbury.
There we went up to Mum's suite, where I tentatively stepped into the lion's den of several bridesmaids in various states of (unfortunately all decent) undress. Wisely escaping, I met up with Dad and his brother Dougal in the hotel's bar for coffee (and then a cheeky half), before Dougal, Katy and I headed to Osterley House, where Duncan and his ushers all looked magnificent in their kilts. I checked the music worked, then assisted with meetin' and greetin'.
Having planned the timings of the day to the nth detail, it was therefore something of a surprise to see 2:00 come and go with no bride. It turns out this was not the bride's fault, rather the Bridesmaidmobile (aka Mum and Stephen's campervan) which had run out of electricity back at the Lensbury and needed a jump start.
Anyway, they got down to business. Duncan, always someone who can work an audience, threw a spanner in the works by blubbing. Being surrounded by ladies, I found my shoulders getting very damp as a result.
Bride and Groom seal the deal with a kiss. Ball and chain not pictured.
Then came the pictures, and a little bit of rigmarole. First up we had the spectre of two missing participants, then a slight re-jigging of the shots to account for Duncan's Dad being stuck at the top of the steps, then my little Diva decided she wouldn't play ball, refusing to pose for photos. Finally we piled into cars and headed back to the Lensbury.
Fizzy stuff and canapés abound, then my first job as MC for the night, to get the rabble to enter the room via a welcoming committee comprising B&G. We sat down for "breakfast" (I know, I have no idea either), and wow. Best. Wedding. Meal. Ever. The asparagus, bacon, poached egg and herb dressing starter was delicious. But then there was the steak. Oh yes, there was the steak. I'm not sure how a slab of meat can taste quite as good as that. But it did - I announced to all and sundry that the steak and I would shortly be getting a room. Katy couldn't quite finish hers, so that went down the hatch. I headed for the top table and Mum had left most of hers. Down the hatch.
My pud was cheese 'n' biscuits. 3 huge lumps of cheese, 3 biscuits. Go figure. I bl**dy love cheese, me.
Then came the speeches. I introduced things:
I know. Babe magnet.
I handed on to Dad, who gave a very moving speech, and then Duncan, who again through the simple act of being a cry-baby wuss managed to cause a near flood. Finally it was turn of Best Man Mike to finish things off with a load of laughs.
Well, things after this start to go a bit hazy. Not necessarily through alcohol consumption, rather this old man getting rather knackered. I did the sociable bit, had some funny photos with Madam, and then my final MC duty of the night was to announce the cutting of the cake before the excellent swing band commenced proceedings (after the first dance, Marvin Gaye). It wasn't long, though, before Madam - who had spent most of the night locking lips with page boy Jack - announced she was out for the count and needed taking to bed. Rather than this being a cue for a domestic with Katy, I was more than happy to accede and accompany the little lady - not before I procured a pork bap with apple sauce and plenty of crackling. Yum.
Well, what a fantastic day. All the effort was well worth it. Lauren looked utterly amazing (and it was fortunate everyone had their back to me as she arrived at Osterley House, else they'd have seen the sight of me blubbing), the party was excellent, the food was unbelievable, the company wonderful. If one could have planned a "Picture Postcard" wedding, this would have been it. I wish Lauren and Duncan a lifetime of happiness together, starting with their first honeymoon to Loch Lomond tomorrow.
