- ► 2008 (92)
- ► 2009 (83)
- ▼ June 2010 (7)
- ► 2011 (61)
- ► 2012 (75)
- ► 2013 (29)
16 Jun 2010
Post 215: Suits you sir!
'My husband and I would like to thank you all for coming to our big fat gay wedding' is not something I thought I'd ever hear but is the phrase from Dave's speech (one of Saturdays's grooms) that stuck in my mind and things don't really stick too well in my short term memory these days.
I don't work for Hello! or OK! (you've probably noticed) but I've had neither the computer time or the energy to process my thoughts from the last few days, so here goes:
As I suspected though pretty much everything about Saturdays wedding was fabulous and not because Dave or Stephen are Anal (that's the wrong thing to say!) but actually because Stephen is a little OCD! [Raising the tone]Dave and Stephen looked wonderful, it didn't rain and my parents(much to my disappointment) didn't put their foot in it! It gave me the chance to see old colleagues that I hadn't seen for ages -I didn't think I'd ever say this, I wish I was at work!, seeing them is always a highlight even though I am amazed they can work out what I am saying because the disarthyria caused by the stroke makes me sound like I've got a mouthful of gobstoppers!
When Dave and Stephen 'walked up the aisle', I lost my first sportsmans bet to myself, I had thought if anyone could carry off a white Tuxedo, it'd be Dave but instead it was Stephen sporting a natty white suit and blue suede shoes.
The ceremony was lovely and very short (always a good thing) and there were some excellent readings about how the strongest force in the universe was love, monkey love and two Tyrannosaurs in love (!) emphasising that if two people of any sex, creed or culture fall in love nothing should prevent them from expressing this commitment. It almost feels as though religion has hijacked weddings as a way of propping up their shaky foundations. Ho hum, not another reason to dislike religion in all it's guises?Surely not, that particular tin of apostates is already bursting at the seams! I agree with Stephen Fry: 'religion, sh*t it'. Their was also lots of music, I had expected something akin to 'four poofs and a piano' but I had forgotten Dave had been a choral scholar at Fenland Polytechnic so there was a rather skilled pianist and an amazing choir.
This was followed with al fresco drinks and then a merciful 2 hour rest before a sit down dinner. It was already feeling like one of my 'tired days' where I get so exhausted I don't know how to move or communicate. Luckily I was able to take this time to find a darkened corner of a barn, recline my wheelchair and have a dose. I hate having to do this, it's pathetic.
Only a gay couple could have organised their wedding during Englands first game of the world cup but it didn't worry me, if there's one thing I hate more than religion, it's football and dinner kicked off at the same time. Dinner was a collage of cold foods the like of which I had never seen but then I remembered Dave is a serious foodie so it was bound to be impressive. On the sorry subject of the footie. England didn't disappoint by disappointing and it struck me in the car on the way home what I find so disappointing, that it doesn't matter in football if it's 1-1 or 5-1 it's equally as rubbish to watch, it's just in one game we've been lucky enough to score more goals, that's right, luck. still, can't help thinking that this weeks exhaustion is slightly my fault by virtue of the fact that I've been trying to do too much again. In the week preceding this wedding I had been to two of the most middle class concerts in my life:
Thursday to see Dame Kiri te Kanawa at Wisley (My Dad has been a fan for as long as I can remember (she is famous as Mezzo Soprano's go)Wisley is one of the royal horticultural societies beautiful gardens 15 mins from me that hasn't lost it's magic despite one of the guys who used to work for me (a gay bloke) telling me it was the south of England's cruising and cottaging hotspot!
I bought the tickets mainly because I knew it would be the ideal night for my parents, we'd all enjoy the music and the setting, and because it was so close it wouldn't be too exhausting.
It ended up being one of those evenings when you know it would have been magic if it'd been a beautiful evening, instead the sky remained resolutely slate grey and there were some chilly gusts of wind but miraculously the rain held off. This being a middle aged, middle class event when it got pretty cold and the rain threatened, there was a sort-of stiff upper lipped blitz spirit where people would huddle under their Waitrose bags (which were probably used instead of tickets!), or sit on their wicker hampers and use their John Lewis picnic blankets for warmth.. there is an irony to this that makes me chuckle but I never find it as funny as some of my more militant leftie friends who seem to have me believe that they'd like nothing more than to lob a hand grenade into gatherings like this. Friday night was more of a middle class rock concert, a sponge concert if you will, seeing Keane at Bedgebury Pinetum. I have seen some horrible things written about Keane because their music is too nice, I think these things are a load of bull! Keane's music may be a bit tuneful and they may be to Rock'n'Roll what Mary Whitehouse is to Pornography but I think their music is brilliant. I hadn't seen them since February 2009 (post 107) and I have a little history with the Keane lads having been to school with them so I was keen to see them again to see what they could do – having had such an amazing debut album, it must have been difficult to better it and conjure up a new musical direction, unfortunately,unforgiving musical Philistines like me just wanted to hear the masterpieces from their first album which are amazing live, so sure enough the ridiculously well-behaved crowd loved it when they broke into the familiar introductions of 'everything's changing' and when they finished with the spellbinding 'bedshaped'.
Particular bonuses for the evening were the lovely weather, the view from the wheelchair platform which was brilliant and the company (of Oli) who is consistently one of the best of the many kind folk who take me to gigs, because he loves live events and he is great at looking after me. He did a superb job of demonstrating how to use the van to the adorable Christina, who was feeling (unsurprisingly!) a bit unsure about the procedures necessary for taking me to see Green Day at Wembley this saturday. She'll do fine. Oli and Christina made the night for me by being there and loving the gig. Keaane may not be very Rock'n'Roll but neither am I!
That's not it yet. In my attempts to get as much out of my life (some might say I'm exhausting myself)I went out on Sunday evening to see my current favourite comedian Daniel Kitson. Regular readers will know I've had a few favourite comedians. Bill Bailey (who is still my hero), Stephen k Amos, Tim Minchin and now Daniel Kitson who I will always try and see if he's performing within the vicinity. Friends Simon and Yvonne feel the same, seeing Kitson is gold, I'd also invited my trainer Jose and his girlfriend Bec,
a nutritionist who has helped me in the past and my friend Rachel because I always feel that going to these things in a big group is more fun, it sounds trite but I like to 'spread the joy' (then sadly the poor girl was ill). I first saw Kitson unintentionally in 2009 when he was compering a charity gig in January (post 96)
Anyway, rather than his usual stand up he was telling a story he had written about his old flat when he had lived in crystal Palace during the nineties called 66A Church Road. I've been to one of his story recitals before and even though you could just switch off, he is such a compelling and amusing speaker you listen to it all, you get the impression that he's a sensitive soul because the smallest details get woven into the story and I really empathised with how he got attached to the flat and came up with several crackpot schemes for the place. There was also a particularly moving bit about him moving out and saying goodbye. I was particularly attached to my place in Brixton but I never had the chance to say goodbye. In spite of the fact that I still own it I don't think I'll ever live there again, even though it's on the ground floor, Brixton and disability don't mix
and it was a fun place to live in my 20s and even though Oxshott is a bit more sedate, I'm 33 and this is a place I think I can survive in. Life used to be for living, now it's about surviving. Is that wrong?