It was one of the more unusual weddings that I have ever been to. For a start, it remains the only one I can remember going to where the bride was almost six months pregnant. It is also the only one where the date was set for the last possible time when the bride could fly out on – and more importantly home from – the honeymoon.
More extraordinarily, though, it remains the only one which took place in a Tardis.
Well, okay, it wasn’t a Tardis. It was a register office which just happened to be about three times as big on the inside as it was on the outside. The squat, unprepossessing building gave way on the interior to a glorious, wood panelled, ceremonial room which seemed to be as airy and spacious as that in a stately home.
Then there was the reception, which was held in a nearby pub, with all of the guests seated on opposite sides of a great long table, with the bride, groom and the rest of the wedding party at the head of it. Under the timbered beams of the pub it was like a modern take on a mediaeval banquet.
The most memorable part for me came with the Best Man’s speech. For once, though, it wasn’t what was said about the groom that stuck in my memory, but the gift that he gave the bride.
The happy couple had met through their mutual love of climbing. The Best Man therefore gave the blushing bride one of these, commenting that it might come in useful in a few months time*. Cue equal amounts of laughter and eye watering from the assembled guests.
It was a memorable event, for all of the right reasons – and only added to by the fact that, after years of dodging the Gatso bullet, Helen was finally dinged by a speed camera on the way home.
That was seven short years ago. Happy Anniversary, Pennie and Tim.
*Given that those devices are generically referred to as ‘protection’, there’s an argument that it actually arrived six months too late.