Gannin’ doon tah Cambridge, Pet

13th September 2004

Forgive the Northeast colloquialisms, but it was a most interesting weekend. Spent two days with some Geordies (people from Newcastle), Maccams (people from Sunderland) and - erm, people from Cambridge (don’t know what they’re called) in the grounds of Downing College. Considering the bitterly fierce rivalry between the Maccams and Geordies, everyone got on incredibly well.

I was there for the wedding of Emma’s brother (Gary) and his bride (Sue). I hate weddings generally. I hate wearing a suit. I hate the hypocrisy of lots of heathens (myself included) sitting in church merrily clapping the vows, mumbling hymns and avoiding the donations pot. I wonder how spending thousands of pounds on a cake strengthens a well-worn relationship. I’m certainly not anti-marriage, and I congratulate any readers who are hitched, but I still don’t really get it. That said, I did once propose to someone.

Anyway. I always end up enjoying myself, and this was no exception. Downing is a tremendous old Cambridge college, exactly as you’d imagine a Cambridge college to be. Our last-minute en-suite room (single beds?! Soon sorted that out, readers…) was a short walk through the grounds from the wonderful antiquated reception hall, and we only needed to leave the college to buy fags. It was a joy to waltz around in my itchy, slightly shabby suit whilst clutching a roll-up and drinking fizzy booze. It proved difficult to remain on my best behaviour, and the same could be said for my partner. Still, what else are weddings for?

Why am I banging on about weddings? Well, I do hope this journal entry helps you cope with an impending wedding invitation. You know the score. You’ve said “Yes”, but you meant “No”. The event seemed far away, then suddenly you can’t find your tie. You’re aprehensive about meeting families, and you’ve forgotten all that wedding etiquette rubbish. Then, you go. You scrub up pretty well, and pretend you’re Harvey Kietel for the day. It all ends up fine, and despite the hangover, you look back on the day with a smile. I say sieze your invite - be grateful that someone likes you enough to shove someone else off the list.

I might also suggest that you allow plenty of time to get there. I’m afraid by the time we reached the church, the doors were firmly shut. It was all a bit of a panic really. Whilst getting out of jeans and a t-shirt and into a suit at 80mph is an interesting challenge, I don’t recommend it. And by the looks of things, changing into a dress outside the gates isn’t much fun either. Actually, I think that one depends on if you’re watching, or doing…

I should also say a big “Way-eye!” to Emma’s family (Maccams, although she’s a Geordie. Don’t ask), who were all very welcoming, didn’t ask me any probing questions, and purchased lots of ale and food for me. You were all lovely, and I look forward to seeing you again.

Now then, about this getting married business. You gotta be mad, right?

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