As it turns out, nothing. Well,almost nothing.
I'd not slept well Thursday or Friday night and had filled the time by reading "The Black Stuff", by Val Cale. It's the true story of a young Irish guy's booze and drug filled travels around the world. The premise is that the human mind is like a pint of Guiness. Concious thought, how we think we should act, our petty concerns, and all the rest are the gleaming white head. Your guts, determination and the fuel that drives you is in the Black Stuff. I like it as an analogy, although I have no idea how I fit into it. Anyway, I digress. I killed some time making risotto (carbs, protein, easy to eat) and finishing the book.
I'd made the decision to drive pretty to the wedding early in the week. As I've stated, I don't drink and drive, so this was a great way to avoid drinking. The coward part of my brain was also telling me that if it got too hard I could just fake illness and do a runner! I got dressed and to be honest I was looking pretty hot, in a Georgian footman kind of way. The dark rings around my eyes were going and I had some colour back in my cheeks. My invite was a plus one but Allie and I had terminal relationship issues, so I was going to have to do this one on my own.
I finally got to the hotel. I say finally. It's 10 miles away but despite being able to find a bar pretty much anywhere I have no sense of direction and ended up 5 miles off target. When I walked into the garden at half ten and realised that everyone else was staying over, and therefore in jeans. I felt a bit stupid but soon it was time to get ready and we could have the bonding process of cufflinks, cravates and the tricky hanky issue. Never mind the buttonholes. Buttoned jackets? Bottom waistcoat undone? Nightmare!
Eventually we were done and the pied piper led his chosen rats into the garden. More of my mates were there and I felt less exposed. The grooms mum came over and gave me a hug. "You're looking so well!!". She's also a receptionist at my Dr's so is pretty up to speed with my issues, as she often reads out my test results to me. I know it's not my day but I'm feeling fucking great right now. I'm surrounded by people I love, and just as importantly they love me. I'm gonna nail this. How could I even dream of letting this man down? He means the world to me. I'm free, newly out of a tortuous relationship, and looking forward to sharing in my friends special day! What can possibly go wrong?
We bundle through the standard groom, best man and usher photo's. I can see my man is shitting it a bit by this time so we just have a laugh and he visibly chills out. He also has a strongbow, but I'm in no position to judge. The waiting is almost over and he just wants to see his bride and say "I will". It's at moments like this that you realise that the dress, suits, flowers, meal and all the rest of it is just beautiful trimming. It's what happens between those two people that counts, and we were lucky enough to witness it. The first shock of the day came when I ordered a lemonade. £1.70 for a half. Shit - this was meant to be the cheap option!!!
Sometimes you have to help yourself in life. Sometimes someone gives you a hand. Sometimes a blisteringly niave lack of preperation and the fact that deep down, you believe that if you try to do the right thing pretty much everything will work out, more or less, ok in the end comes up Aces. All three combined here. My ushing preperation was so poor I didn't even know I had a reserved seat for the service and so as last man in I chose not to check (if I didn't I would have looked a right dick) and just plonked myself down at the back. I looked at the person next to me and she was stunning. I remembered seeing her walk in on her own about five minutes previously, so I said hello. After some initial confusion (I share a name with the groom) we started talking in the pre-bride interlude and hit it off straight away. Clever, funny, warm. Wow. My attempts to play it cool were hampered when I started welling up during the service, so at that point I just gave up with the shit. No more lies!
The service was beautiful. My friend looked so happy when his beautiful bride walked in. To be fair she would look elegant and stunning if she'd just finished a hard day digging the garden, but today she'd reached new levels. It's strange how ambivalence hits you. I was so happy for them both, and their families on what was a beautiful, moving and intimate day. At the same time I had the flashbacks to my previous fucked up relationships. My sadness made their happiness shine all the more brilliantly and lifted me. Now was not the time to look back. Now was the time to bask in someone elses joy and let it feed your own.
Big confession. I fucked up the not drinking almost immediately. When we walked out into the garden after the service there were two trays. One with champagne, one with orange juice. I went for the OJ option and after the first gulp I realised, "Shit! This isn't fucking orange juice". I ditched the bucks fizz straight away, and went back on lemonade. That could have been a turning point. I could have beaten myself up but not today. The sun was shining, and all the people I care about were around me to celebrate something special. Move on boy. It was a mistake.
It turns out that my service buddy was single and only knew the bride. Pretty brave coming on your own. In fact it turns out that we were the only two singles at the wedding. What are the chances? Thank you breathetaking niavity and lack of planning. I introduced her to my friends and their partners, which was almost a mistake. I struggled to get her back for a chat for hours. Fair play, my friends are cool. The day continued with more photo's, a lovely meal and some really moving speeches. The groom is so cool that we had to go back 18 years to find anything to dig up on him. He was sick at mine the first time he drank. He managed to not let it control him. Looking back, I was on the path even then.... I flushed scarlet with shame when they named me as holding the party. Everyone else had moved on. I sensed everybody knew I hadn't.
The meal passed, as did the interlude before the evening party and it dawned on me. I'm having a great time. I'm sober. People find me funny. And interesting. I'm sober. I was happy just hanging with strangers, talking to my friends, talking to the girl I'd just met (lets call her Eve - bit Biblical I know but kind of symbolic). I'm sober. I don't need the booze. I'm happy.
I disproved the theory that alcohol diminishes your feelings of self conciousness. I was sober, although admittedly full of sugar from the lemonade and sweet factory, and feeling the joy. You can get away with dancing like a twat as long as you have a stupid grin on you face that shouts "I know. I don't care. Great isn't it? Come and join in!!". And that's what I did. Dancing like a pillock to indie rock and roll for three hours straight in a full morning suit. I didn't need Allie. I spent a load on booze, but none of it was for me. I was happy. I was so elated I felt bullet-proof. Nothing could go wrong tonight. Not with that much love around us all.
Being the only two singles Eve and I were the centre of the gossip columns and at the end of the night I gave her a lift home. I genuinely did get lost again, but eventually got my bearings and dropped her off where she was staying, luckily about 1/4 of a mile from mine. What are the chances? We swapped numbers, promised to meet again and then she thanked me for not kissing her on the dancefloor. It was a pretty close run thing to be fair, but I remembered that just because I felt 18 again there was no need to act it. I kissed her good night and we talked for a while longer. Another kiss, and then she went inside and I drove home happy. All thoughts of Allie were gone
What an amazing day! It's joint top in my two favourite weddings of all time. Everything was so friendly, everyone was so approachable and happy. I wanted that for me. And I was so proud. My boy had grown up!
There is an ususual post script. I got in about three and sat up reading in the garden until 5:30am, then finally dropped of to sleep some time after 6:30am. The moral is that if you drink a gallon of lemonade and eat two kilo of candy sleeping will be difficult. That's what I tried to tell myself anyway. Deep down I think it was just sheer happiness and elation. Goodbye Allie. I don't miss you. Go and dig your claws into someone else. You've held me back too long. Bitch.
Next up - Sunday and a Q & A mail from one of my oldest friends. He encouraged me to write this and was the first to read it.
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