As a fully fledged Pastor (no really I am, thanks to the New Horizon Ministry) I am used to wedding ceremonies and the ecumenical consequences. I do enjoy a good wedding especially when two of my congregation tie the knot in Gods house. You may think it’s just another task that I undertake in Gods good name and you may well think I have seen so many couplings that I might be a tad tired but every now and then I get to take of the collar and attend as a member of the public, a “busman’s holiday” so to speak. This weekend was one of those special moments in time where I got to see, first hand, from the other side of the fence, a not so young couple tie that knot.
You instinctively know when something is not meant to be, when all the signs say “NO.. No and for Christ sake NO”. This was one of those. The wedding ceremony was held in a local church. Now this is where I might sound like a Christian snob, but the place is renowned for offering services where no other church will partake. I mean, marrying divorcees, the excommunicated and inane. There is nothing wrong with this, someone has to do it and if you come from out of town, have never been to church, are using Gods house as a platform to launch your life together with no regard for why people get married in church in the first place but want a gothic backdrop to the firing squad photos, then this is your place.
The Pastor was a Nigerian gentleman and whilst I admire the growth of Gods work in our colonies and think Desmond 2nd Class Degree is a wonderful orator, this particular gentleman of the cloth had an unusual command of spoken English and an even more bizarre way of interpreting it, namely his pronunciation of the bride and grooms names. The congregation tittered at first but by the seventh or eighth cocked up muttering we all knew we were in for a ball. This was the first time I had ever seen the honoured couple have to direct the service and correct the Pastor mid stroke to get the service back on track. A wedding service will last at most an hour; this went on for nearly two. I prayed my phone would ring if only to escape the debacle.
Now, I was not so much a friend of the bride as more a gatecrasher. I had met her before and was convinced she was the result of a tragic transsexual operation that had run a muck, the words Man beast were on my lips as I wondered how someone with gigantism would ever find a mate. Today I saw the mate and it was all I could do to hold back the tears (tears of pure laughter). They looked odd to start with, he was an ex army Captain from some forgotten regiment that probably lost his balls up the Khyber Pass and looked like a naughty child next to his near seven foot mate. I wanted to see who was daft enough to attempt to climb onto this best and bring it to heel. Here they were going through the machinations of a service in a language no one could understand, ad libbing when it all went wrong but still keeping very serious and straight faces in the face of obvious calamity. I thought to my self “this can only get better”, boy was I wrong.
The array of invited guests left the service in drips and drabs to relocate to a swanky hotel with wonderful views of the local harbour. I just wandered with them uninvited but what the hell, it was amusing so far, it could only get funnier. I hitched a lift with an amusing couple from Guilford by telling them that Pastor Desmond was a trainee and that I was his spiritual mentor (the collar was back on and I was untouchable once more). Once at the reception it was easy to blag, the brides friends were told I was an Army Pastor having served with the Khyber Pass Regiment and the Grooms were told I was the brides religious advisor and was there to take a confessional should the need arise. I managed to find a seat on the “singles table” and sat next to “action man” who had met the bride in a London cocktail bar. When I say action man yes he looked rugged and handsome but I was looking for the off switch on his neck, he was the most boring self referential knob I had ever met, I decided to hover the tables and consume some free drink. I met another nice young man who, strangely enough had also met the bride in another cocktail bar in London (a pattern was forming here). The next couple I met knew the bride as the husband had once dated the bride long ago (when she was only six foot). Every table I sat at had a member who had either dated the bride or had met her in a cocktail bar in London.
After a long wait for a sit down starter I was forced to join the dole queue waiting for a handout of beef or turkey and …… no gravy, just a Waldorf salad and I hate Waldorfs. No desert clinched it, that and the first dance that should be included as one of the interrogation techniques at Guantamo Bay. To say it was painful was an understatement, next time just pull my fingernails with pliers. The “Disco” warmed up and I chilled out in an external bar where I met several men who had met the bride in a cocktail bar in London. I got bored by 11pm and headed into town to find a refuge for prayer. To sum up, from now on I will keep to my own side of the ecumenical fence. It turned out that the bride and groom were married last February and that all of this was for show. My advice, save your money and invest in a good solicitor to the groom, or invest in a cocktail bar. To the bride, well done love, you have to kiss a few frogs to find a Prince but inviting the frogs to your big day is just a tad perverse. It was an interesting day and no doubt for the groom an interesting night, T.E, Lawrences’ “Seven Pillocks of Wisdom” sprang to mind. As for the Man beast, the heshe looked lovely in hisher frock but don’t spend the honeymoon in Bankok, too much competition and at least the ladyboys look more convincing.
