If you read my last blog post, you could be forgiven for thinking I was nine years old. After the events of the weekend it appears I am in fact a bit older than nine... apparently I am old enough to go to a friend's wedding and make an absolute arse of myself.
I thought I had at least a decade left before I transformed into an embarrassing, drunken wedding stock character mais non, that was me on Saturday.
Praise the rain, I did not act alone.
Me and my friend Claire* travelled from Stockport to St Helens to see Chesh- our friend from uni- get married. Since we left uni, Chesh is one of the girls I haven't seen very often, even though we lived together for two years. It's always the same though, when we meet up. I'm so glad we were invited to the wedding. I just hope Chesh doesn't now regret inviting us...
Chesh has been with her boyfriend- sorry husband- for seven years and while we were at uni she'd talk about engagement rings and wedding dresses, so it was surreal actually being there on her wedding day. The ceremony was in a Catholic church and as Claire isn't Catholic, I took the opportunity to point things out to her, like The Stations of the Cross. She found it amusing that we were sat next to a charming wooden carving of a naked Jesus being forced onto a cross and having nails driven into his hands... Lovely decor.
I haven't been to church for so long that I'd forgotten a lot of things- like making the sign of the cross towards the alter before you sit on the benches, for example- but Claire egged me on to get communion. I felt like a bit of a fraud and half-expected the priest to challenge me on my Catholic credentials before he gave me a bit of Jesus's wafery flesh to pop in my mouth, but he didn't. When I got back to my seat with Jesus stuck to the roof of my mouth, I automatically got to my knees and started praying. Claire looked horrified and asked me what I was doing, just like Kayt did when I fell to my knees in the Notre-Dame.
Most of the time I think I definitely don't believe in God but sometimes I think I am definitely going to hell and I need to confess all my sins ASAP... so I always make sure I have communion if it's on offer. Better to be safe than BURNING IN HELL.
As we had both talked to Chesh A LOT about her wedding day when we were at uni, me and Claire made some very accurate guesses about the dresses. The bridesmaids were in a pale olive green (we guessed teal), Chesh's mum was wearing an olive green suit and a fabulous hat (we guessed the right outfit, but said the colour blue) and Chesh wore a vintage wedding dress, overlaid with beaded lace and flaring out into a long trail. We debated if she would go for her signature Red Lip- she did and we were so glad.
I surprised myself by crying when the couple said their vows. Chesh's voice started breaking and that set all the girls in the pews off. For me, weddings are normally all about the bride's dress and the alcohol, but Chesh kept smiling at the groom- a really big, genuine smile- and it got me, good and proper.
I had a moment of 'This is a really beautiful, lovely thing and I'm so happy for her' and that's probably the only none-disgusting thing I did all day. Once we started drinking our decorum went to shit.
(I've just remembered! Towards the end of mass, when you shake hands with those around you, Claire was saying 'All the best, take care mate' instead of 'Peace be with you.)
We were quite well behaved during the meal, but after the speeches Claire wrote #LADS in the guest book and from there we spiralled into silliness. Our other friend from uni, Jen, arrived from Gatwick. She'd come straight from a skiing holiday in Italy and she'd made a stop at the Duty Free.
Luckily we were staying at the hotel, so while everyone waited for the banqueting hall to be turned into a disco for the evening do, we sat in our room and drank some of Jen's duty free goods. Somehow on our way from the room to the reception, we ended up posing for very crude, silly photos. The only photo of me from the whole wedding is of me bumming Jen in a corridor... I can't help feeling that we let Chesh down.
We managed to chat to Chesh a little bit in the evening do, but she was so busy being a bride all night and making sure she got round to everyone, that we spent most of the evening in our disgraceful little threesome, somehow ostracising ourselves from the rest of the guests without noticing.
When Claire staggered off to get three Jagerbombs, Jen pretended to go to to the toilet to be sick... Really she sneaked off to our room and went to sleep, leaving me and Claire to get drunker and drunker, sillier and sillier.
Claire started doing a 'sexy' dance to make me laugh, as in a ridiculous stripper-style dance that we would never do in real life and therefore find very amusing, but as nobody else at the wedding knew who we were, perhaps in hindsight it looked as if she was genuinely sexy dancing.In her defense, I must make it clear that Claire was on the edge of the dance floor and nobody else was watching. (That we could see.)
Deep down inside, we're all little kids who just want to make our friends laugh. So the more I laughed, the more outrageous Claire became. She brought in a chair. I laughed more. She sat backwards on the chair... You get the picture. It got to the point where Claire was upside down on the chair doing the scissors with her legs and I was crying, with pains in my stomach, laughing so hard I thought I was going to be sick.
Then. Chesh appeared out of nowhere, a vision in white. She bent down and told Claire to stop it.
"James' family are very conservative!" she said.
We'd been told off. We'd disgraced ourselves. We should have gone to bed, but we didn't.
We continued to strut around the dance floor, clicking with our eyes half-closed, like two pervy uncles. The Dirty Dancing song came on and we start doing The Routine. I announced that I would be Patrick Swayze and for a while we had quite a good dance going... Claire ended up half-way across the dance floor so I shouted at her to run to me- I would catch her and lift her up, like in the film.
You can guess what happened.
Two seconds later, we were being helped up off the floor and Chesh said, "Girls, you're going to hurt yourselves."
Luckily we weren't hurt, we were laughing like two silly idiots. The worst thing is, Claire can't remember why we fell over and I pretended I couldn't either... I knew very well it was all my fault.
We started dancing again and for some reason I pretended to be a little old Irish man. I patted Claire on the back and said, "You're alright, I've got you, I've got you" whilst trying to lift her up again by one leg. While I was doing this, Claire was laughing and saying "I'm going to wet myself I'm going to wet myself."
I have no idea what everyone else must have thought and I hope I never find out.
The next morning at 7am Claire woke me and Jen up by shouting, "Oh god oh god oh god. I'm lying in a bed of shame."
We went down to breakfast so we could say goodbye to Chesh. Claire apologised for her behaviour and Chesh said she will visit us for a proper catch up in London soon. I hope she really meant it and that she hasn't washed her hands of us. Chesh and her new husband looked so fresh and wholesome, all clean hair and ski jumpers. I felt rough and grubby, head hanging in shame over my Full English breakfast.
So, not exactly on our best behaviour. Our excuse is that we hadn't had a night out together since we finished uni four years ago and it was technically still the Christmas Period of Excessive Drinking.
I can't believe it's NYE...
And I'm working.
The deputy manager who I'll be working with tonight said I can wear a 'nice top' and do 'nice hair and make-up', but what's the point in putting lipstick on if I'm just going to be stood behind the bar with a face like a slapped arse all night?
If I could get hold of some valium, I wouldn't mind going straight home from work and knocking myself out until next year, but I don't have any. I know I'll get home and feel all wired from work. I don't fancy watching Jools Holland on my own, stuffing myself with Christmas cheese and chocolate and crying.
The weird thing is, a couple of years ago I came to London for NYE and my cousin had a party. We left it to go and see her boyfriend in work... and his work was the pub where I now work!!! If I would have known then that I'd be spending a future NYE there, behind the bar... I probably wouldn't have left fucking Paris.
*I know I mention this every time I write 'me and someone' but I want you to know that I know it's not grammatically correct... I just can't bear to write 'Someone and I'. Ergh.