Friday 29 February 2008

It's the final countdown....

...one month to go - we wed on March 29th - and we're feeling very, very excited!!!

Monday 25 February 2008

Going, going, gone

Have you ever seen a full-sized van vanish in a puff of smoke before your very eyes?  I can assure you, it's a terrifying experience.  Especially if the man you love happens to be sitting in it at the time.

That's what happened last night as we were driving home to Bristol, having picked up Joe The Volk, The Purple Passion Wagon from its previous owners.  They were a very pleasant middle-aged couple selling the VW Transporter on behalf of their daughter, who'd just moved to Australia.  The gave us a cup of tea and everything.  

It was too bad it was dark when we arrived to collect it.  Although whether Theo's and my combined mechanical expertise would have picked up the lack of fan belt when we looked at the engine is a moot point.  

But less than ten miles later, on one of the most dangerous trunk roads in the south west, disaster struck.  I was in the car behind Theo, who was trying to get to grips with driving the unfamiliar van, which also happened to be left hand drive.  Then, in quick succession, the lights dimmed, something went bang and the van was enveloped in a thick black cloud of smoke, so dark I couldn't see it at all.  Theo had worked out pretty fast that all was not well, but was valiantly making for the Podimore service station, which had just come into view up ahead.  But I was getting grim visions of fireballs and charred bodies, so I leant on the car horn, whacked on my hazards and pulled him over, full of desperate relief when he got out looking completely unharmed, albeit with a slightly traumatised expression on his face.

"I knew our luck had to run out sometime," I muttered, as I shakily tried to dial the number for the AA on my phone.  We have always considered ourselves an incredibly lucky couple.  Getting together in the first place.  Having so many things in common.  The way my previous 11-year relationship had reached a dignified end with my lovely ex able to find someone worthy of him so soon afterwards. The way so many of my friends and family had accepted Theo, despite him having arrived on the scene while they were still grieving for the lost couple of which I had once been a part.  Scoring an expenses-paid trip to Barcelona together.  Finding our first shared home through a friend of a friend and it turned out to be a humdinger of a place, convenient for both workplaces, yet affordable.  How, when we'd been burgled in our flat, the thief had taken nothing except a handful of loose change and hadn't even made a mess. I could go on, but it would become nauseating.

But the thing is, we quickly realised our luck hadn't run out.  We'd broken down right near the services, for heaven's sake.  So we kept warm while we waited for the AA.  It also meant there was somewhere conveniently close by and off the road for it to be towed and left, very useful as it still had its SORN notice (taxing was something we were intending to do as soon as we'd got it back to Bristol).  The people who'd sold us the van drove out to us and refunded the money we'd given them, less than an hour earlier.  They even offered us a bed for the night, if we needed it, bless them.  The first scrap dealer we rang the next morning was busily loading the stricken VW on a truck within half an hour of us calling them, so we were back in Bristol by lunchtime.  

But luckiest of all, we were both okay.  As we recovered the colour in our cheeks over a couple of Little Chef specials, we toasted our escape from a much worse fate with a bottle of beer.  And we agreed, what had begun as a potential tragedy had turned into an adventure.  Now we just need to find another van, preferably one that will go more than ten miles before expiring.  It's a shame, though.  We really liked the colour of that one.

Thursday 21 February 2008

play it again Sam...

So, obviously, given the importance of music to both Kate and myself, not least as the catalyst which brought us together in the first place, music is going to play a big part not only in the ceremony (see previous post) but in the celebration of our wedding. (see right - my mother complained that the flyer was "a bit rude")

All three bands have featured on Kate's 'Fine Tuned' slot, while both Angel Tech and SJ Esau have played live sessions on my Word of Mouth show - I would have loved to have had Babel in but sadly the studio just wasn't up to holding a seven piece folk-rock outfit. More's the pity. We're really thrilled to have these three ace bands and three awesome DJs playing at our wedding, many of whom would have been invited as guests anyway, and we're sure it's going to help make the day even more special for us. It's a shame that Bucky and 3Hostwomexicansandatinofspanners couldn't make it, but then we would probably have struggled to fit five bands in!

See you down the front...

Tuesday 19 February 2008

Joe & Volk

Yesterday was a very, very exciting day for us and our wedding/honeymoon plans on two counts.

Firstly, at 10:51am, Kate and I won a Purple Passion Wagon on ebay. Hurrah! We managed to bag the left-hand drive, diesel T25 Volkswagon for the bargain price of £1,120.00 in what was, in the end, a rather uneventful auction. There was one other bidder who never came anywhere near meeting our maximum bid and so there was no frantic bidding and counter-bidding at the close. Nonetheless Kate watched it home to be doubly sure. I was at work and, frustratingly, on my mobile at the time; I heard the beep as Kate's text arrived and, guessing what it was about, I broke all speed records for ending phone conversations! We're both thrilled if slightly apprehensive - the back is a bit of a blank slate so we'll need to put a bed and kitchen in ourselves - but I'm actually really looking forward to the challenge of attempting to show that I am in fact my father's son and can do DIY! We're picking it up from Yeovil on Sunday on the way back from a Salisbury/Page family gathering in Cornwall.

The second wonderful thing that happened yesterday was that the lovely and brilliant Joe Volk came over to our flat to play a private gig in our sitting room. As you do. Here's how it came about: Joe has played several gigs I've put on in the past (I've also booked a tour for him) and his superb debut solo album Derwent Waters Saint is one of our favourites. When Joe asked how he might contribute to our wedding Kate and I were quick to ask him to play during the ceremony in place of having a reading. However, as much as we love his first album and many of the songs on it (a lot), none of them are particularly appropriate for the occassion. So we asked Joe if he had any new material, at which point he offered to come over and play some stuff to us and let us record him so that we could choose something. I guess I haven't quite kicked the promotion bug yet as this offer was used an an opportunity to invite some friends round for food and wine for what turned out to be a magical and intimate little gig in our sitting room. We all sat spellbound as Joe, surrounded by an array of microphones and lit by lamps and candles, wove his mesmeric melodies over fingerpicked guitar. The recordings sound awesome. We didn't think it possible, but now we are even more excited than before at the prospect of having him play at our ceremony....

We may even have to name our van after him.

Tuesday 12 February 2008

Ruffled Feathers, Lack Of Horn

It was when my Matron of Dishonour (Hen) put the sixth case of Cava in the car and we realised we didn't have room for any food that I knew my hen weekend was going to be a serious business. Let's not even mention the barrel of cider, which had already been decanted into another hen's estate car.
There had been a lot of mysterious activity going on with only the smallest hint to me (that there was activity, no clue as to what it actually was) and all I knew for sure was that we were staying in a big house near Barnstaple, vegetarian chilli was the Friday night meal and there would be sixteen of us.
The house was perfect, in a sort of residential home for the elderly sort of way. I think we counted six different floral patterns in the lounge, which had a number of not-quite-matching three-piece suites lining the walls. All that was missing were tartan blankets and tea served in china cups and saucers.
But it was spot on for our purposes - very cheap and clean with lots of space, plenty of bedrooms and some decent-sized areas for communual mischief-making. We had pedalled the usual fib of it being a birthday party knees-up, but to be honest, I don't think they would have minded if we'd come clean about the clucking.
The first night was relatively low key, involving a mere eight people, lots of chat, several generous plates of nosh and some pretty respectable in-roads into the Cava. A highlight was when the hens (including one honorary cock hen) unexpectedly appeared in the kitchen all wearing the chosen uniform for the weekend of black matching Ts printed with a huge pair of red lips and the words "Redd to Wed" on the front. Suddenly I was the front woman of a stadium rock band on tour. It was priceless and hats off to Matron of Dishonour (clothes) who was responsible for the idea and the design.
The other memorable moment that night involved our mole at the simultaneous stag do (Theo's sister) texting me a picture of my intended wearing a bright pink "Mr Perfect" T-shirt and baggy yellow Y-fronts. Outside his trousers.
I was (rightly) chastised for the number of stag/hen textings that went back and forth, but the rest of the roost probably didn't realise the level of my anxiety and the need to be reassured my gorgeous (even in the Y-fronts, although I hope he won't make a habit of them) young man was not only still alive, but also sporting all his hair.

The next morning we checked the damage. A few minor hangovers and one nudging into more serious territory. We agreed the several bottles of sparkling water had been a wise investment and we would call for reinforcements for the coming night. Which, I had little doubt, would be more rip-roaring.
It all began fairly innocently. A leisurely walk by the estuary, a pub lunch (inconsistant, was the general view of the food, although it was a nice enough place with friendly staff and right by the water). Afternoon tea and biscuits when we got back (no china cups and saucers, I think we stuck with mugs) then the gradual arrival of more hens..first our mole from the stag do, then two of my sisters (complete with the requested extra fizzy water), then another sister and a car-load from Bristol. I volunteered to remain sober to make the trip to Barnstaple station to pick up the one remaining hen, who had travelled all the way down from Teesside.
My absence gave them the perfect opportunity to transform the old people's home aspect of the house into a veritable homage to The Phallous.
When I got back, pausing only to grab a restorative pint of cider, I was bundled into a wonderfully voluminous second-hand wedding dress, given a pair of flashing nipples to wear underneath (one of which refused to work unless someone stuck a finger directly onto it...cheap thrills), then showered with presents for use in my new life. They ranged from the genuinely useful (excellent travel toilet-bag, phrase-books, paper knickers etc.), to the possibly useful (vibrating dolphin cock-ring) to the completely ridiculous (banana-flavoured cock drops, anyone??)
But the best was yet to come. When I walked into the dining room the whole place was decorated with buttock-shaped balloons (which were supposed to be heart shapes, but looked like arses, breasts or testicles depending on the angle they were viewed from), bunting and long, pink balloons fashioned into an outrageous assortment of hats and table decorations by the creative (and filthy-minded) hens. I was shot with a nob-style confetti gun (most impressive - some of the confetti even had the individual pubic hairs drawn on) and after a most excellent curry and dal main course, presented with a cake in the shape of an enormous penis. It was a magnificent confection. And rather shockingly, made to a Delia Smith recipe. I opted for the bifocation method of cutting it up and can affirm it tasted better than most examples of the real thing (or so my other hens assured me, I am much too refined to be able to comment).
After that Dolly Parton's Mule Skinner Blues went on the stereo, the Cava (and medicinal fizzy water) flowed and we partied until every last drop of bubbly was finished. Quite how one hen managed to break her wrist during tail-feather shaking that went on, nobody knows. Even she didn't realise what had happened until later the next afternoon - the anaesthetising qualities of the sparkling wine and the couple of ibuprofen I'd insisted she take before retiring may had something to do with it.
Still, a broken wrist is a small price to pay for missing the nadir of the stag do (broken-wrist hen had been given the option to join the stags, but had turned it down) - the dreaded strippergram. I had a plaintive phone call from Theo later on, who sounded not a little traumatised by the ordeal at the hands (and other body parts) of the two Paignton strippers (paint-strippers). Hats off to the doe-stags who took those responsible for ordering them well and truly to task. Thankfully, all the male members surrounding me during the cluck fest were artificial (well, apart from one, but his remained safely in his trousers), for which I am truly grateful.
But it was a great weekend, mainly because it was so fantastic to party with friends and family (boy, those babymamas can really let their hair down when they get the chance...) and I was so thoroughly spoiled by them all.
Now, I'm looking forward to future partying with Theo beside me. Or in other positions. We're still trying to work out how best to employ my new dolphin cock-ring.
Thanks hens, truly you are wonderful cluckers.

Thursday 7 February 2008

What I learned on my stag weekend...

So I survived my stag do - hair somewhat amazingly unshaved - and Kate coasted through her hen weekend, dignity intact despite a circumsized penis cake and flashing nipples. After a wonderful weekend in the Devon in the company of 21 of my friends (20 on the second night after my sister defected to the Hens) I have learnt the following things:
  1. Swimming pool volleyball is the best game in the world. Fact.
  2. Having girls at a stag weekend will make it more decorous, but it won't make it any less decadent.
  3. There is NEVER a time when strippers are a good idea. True fact.

However, on the drive back, severely hung-over and slightly unnerved by Beans's assault on motorway driving conventions, I felt a warm glow brought on not by nausea or even fondness for my friends, who had made the effort to travel all the way down for the weekend. Instead, my sense of wellbeing was due to the knowledge that I was coming back home to Kate, having completed my last act as a singleton. Well not as a singleton, but at least by myself; for, from now on, everything I do will be with Kate.

I can't wait!

Wednesday 6 February 2008

The Emperor's New Clothes...

A little update then....

firstly, suit shopping was a big success. we went to House of Fraser. Then Debenhams. Then M&S. Then back to House of Fraser. Then Sole Trader, Clarks, River island, back to Debenhams, back to House of Fraser, Next, and then finally to the Full Moon for the easiest purchase of the day (burger and pint). Exhausting, but ultimately successful, Mr Whyard, legend that he is, had gently but firmly led me to buying a very swish suit, ties, shirt and probably the finest pair of shoes I have ever owned in my life. Actually, so's the suit. Couldn't quite find the belt to finish off the ensemble, but I'm sure I can manage that by myself.

Still need to sort out the haircut though, and I doubt if even Pete's eye for fine tailoring can help me there....