They always make me sad. A wedding is supposed to be the symbolic bonding of a man and a woman, but I've always seen it as way of losing your drinking mates. (The only mates I've got are drinking mates. Its funny how alcohol breaks down the barriers and turns everyone into the same, sad degenerate. And how come you don't get many female hardened drinkers ? Maybe they know something we don't)
I drink my breakfast and climb into my sombre suit (funerals and weddings a speciality.) The pockets are filled with mouldy vol o'vonts from the last funeral I gate crashed. I empty them out and check out my reflection in the mirror.
Not bad. Trousers are a little short, but you can't see my knees so they should be OK. And the jackets a bit big so it compensates....
I arrive at the church in plenty of time. The brides' supposed to be here at 11 o'clock but everyone knows she'll be late (I think its the womans way of making the poor bloke suffer. Start as you mean to go on, as they say) so they've all nipped down the pub for the traditional 'swift half'. I find the local pub and force my way through the heaving, singing and extremely pissed wedding guests to the bar.
In next to no time I've managed to steal three pints of bitter and a large rum and coke. I love weddings. Everyone's so busy trying to outdo their relatives with drink buying that you can drink for hours without touching your wallet. (Which is good for me cos' my wallet contains a Kidney Donor card in the name of Uther Pendragon; a small quantity of blue fluff and a fake, plastic police badge.)
Suddenly the 14 year old kid stationed as look out cries out:-
"The brides coming, action stations. Someone sober the groom up a bit !"
We rush across the road (three Great-Aunts get trampled in the crowd) into the church. The poor groom has to be carried across by the best man.
An Usher approaches me..
"Bride or Groom Sir ?" he enquires pleasantly.
I hate these either or questions.
"Which do you recommend ?" I ask casually.
He pushes me into the pew thats been set aside for all the insane, embarrassing and senile relatives. Thats good, I like been in with my own sort.
We kill the time by passing a bottle of industrial strength stain remover around. It tastes like the Vietnamese Vodka I usually drink. I turn my head a little two quickly and the church expands to infinity then compresses to the size of a pea. A quick blink brings everything back to normal (although everyone looks a strange shade of orange)
The wedding march begins and the congregation crane their necks for the first sight of the bride. (I think everyone is secretly hoping that she won't turn up. I hope she's wearing that nice wedding bondage gear I saw in 'Juicy Lucy's Adult Clothes Shop')
She is'nt. Its a traditional wedding dress. I sit back down and drink the rest of the stain remover. Maybe it will make her dress change into my perception of a traditional wedding dress !
The service starts and seems to be going quite well. The groom has got three of his five senses back and has managed to fix a cheesy grin on his face. The best man looks very nervous though. I wonder if he's still got the ring ? The bride is very elegant, you can hardly see that she's 6 months pregnant in that dress.
One of my more insane companions starts telling a rather snotty woman that he can see through her dress. And would she like to see his one eyed trouser snake ? A young boy turns on a tape recorder to get evidence for the committal hearing.
Then the singing and praying starts and I lose all interest in the service. I have a quick nap.
Someone shakes me awake after the ceremony and compliments me on my ability to snore louder than the organ. Ooopps. Never mind, its chuck rice and pretty paper crap at the bride and groom time.
We all stomp outside, hoping that the photographer gets the pictures over quickly so we can get back to the pub. I notice several close relatives of the bride looking at me. I can almost hear them thinking:-
"I bet he's some sleazy friend of HIM"
"I knew HE was'nt good enough for my daughter/niece/cousin/granddaughter"
I like having this kind of effect on people, so I lurch around in front of the photographer mumbling incoherently and drooling. (I hope he's focused the camera, I could win an oscar for my 'mad dog foaming at the mouth' routine.)
I'm finally held to one side by some of the bigger ushers. I amuse myself by being sick down their jackets. The rest of my companions rally round and beat the ushers off, then we begin throwing rice at the happy couple (she looks happy, he looks like he just signed his own execution order.) Old Uncle Herbert has to be restrained when he knocks someone out with a tin of rice pudding. (Everyone calls him Uncle but we're not really sure who he's related to. He always turns up though, so you have to admire his family commitment)
Then a shout rings out:-
"Oi you ! The stupid looking one with the short trousers !"
I think they mean me. I turn around, reaching for a weapon. I see the foul mouthed woman stalking towards me. My bowels relax and my whole body starts to go into convulsions as I recognize the vile apparition in front of me.
"Hello Mum" I mumble.
Oh God, its true. Its my mum. I quickly pull my jacket over my head and run for the church gate. HER head folds in on itself and erupts in a pulsating ooze of gore.
"Come and give your mummy a kiss darling" the thing says through lips made of razor blades.
I know I'm screaming, but I can't hear anything except HER footsteps. HER fetid breath washes over me and I nearly trip and fall. I dart across the road, running for the sanctity of my flat (and the king sized bottle of Vodka sat on the table in the kitchen) I hear cars panic breaking as SHE follows me. I see my flat in the distance. I can outrun her. I hit the door with my key in my hand. The door slams behind me and I sink to the floor, the bottle cradled in my lap like a long lost friend.
I really must stop going to these family get together's. I always have the same nightmare at some point in the proceedings. Funny nightmare really, since I was an orphan and I've usually gatecrashed the family get together (Its amazing how many families swallow the story about me being a long lost, eccentric, millionaire cousin who's come to see the family so he can write his will) Maybe I should tell my analyst about it. Then again, he may think I'm insane if I tell him that.
I drink half of the vodka and settle back to watch the private movie in my mind. The special effects are second to none and I can make Madonna keep her clothes on, give Elton John a wig that does'nt look like his mum cut it and make Sinead O'Connor Pope.
Life is so much better when viewed through the Eye's of the Moon.
Check out the rest of ". . . And Still The Moon"
Submitted By: Anonymous