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Witness to a fairy tale.

AUSTRALIA | Saturday, 13 February 2010 | Views [1800]

Who wants to get married? Anyone? I'm throwing myself away. I'm in need of a bit of a fix up, and I have even less to offer financially now, other than my own lack of self-sufficiency. My liver feels 20 years older than the rest of my body, and I'm 10 times dumber than what I was before this carnival week began. But, I'm a lot more open minded towards a rite of passage that I thought had lost all meaning once a divorce became simpler than operating a touch screen phone.

Knowing Trevor, I should have set my expectations for his wedding higher than my bigotry. I knew God wasn't invited, but I feared superstitious rituals were still a necessary part of the occasion. And while some were observed, the formalities of the day turned out to be a perfect expression of these two unconventional characters and their enviable union.

Starting the ceremony in the late afternoon gave Trevor most of the day to nervously shit himself to near dehydration. A hot Hobart sun was adding to this, and to the red snouts too much booze had left us Bucks party participants with. The garden setting by the pool was shadowed by the iconic Cascade brewery building as it peered through the trees while Mt. Wellington bore witness from the heights beyond. Dashing, dapper and dressed to impress, Trevor and his 3 grooms looked worth marrying in a complimentary contrast of sharp black suits and Chuck Taylor hi-top boots. As for the bride, if she doesn't look good on the day, it would be safe to say that her heart can't really be in it. Abbie looked so stunning, she left no doubt there is no other place she wants to be than by Trevor's side.

I didn't pick Trevor as a blubbery sort of bloke, but not even the heat could stop his tears from flowing freely as his breaking voice repeated his vows. Normally going to water whenever I see someone else turn on the taps, I was surprised I maintained my composure better than some others around me. Rings were exchanged, kisses were shared, a piece of paper was signed and everything was deemed legitimate to the various exclamations of pride, blessing and admiration of all present.

While the bridal party struck various poses for immortality and posterity, the rest of us struck an all too familiar pose with beer in hand. Possibly not the best way to counter all the profuse sweating we had suffered in suits and ties on a sunny, Summers day. Trevor's father Hans ripped his tie off with such speed I thought a ritualistic burning was going to follow just as quickly. I considered doing likewise but thought the effort involved in getting it on in the first place warranted more time in its stranglehold.

Allocated seating and a large meal was deemed to be at odds with the Bacchanalian revelry expected at the reception. Finger food and free beer (for those not footing the final bill) was offered in the brewery's museum instead. Unfortunately, the first turkey to carry out a platter believed that vegetarians would be forced to make do with the tomato relish, asparagus and biscuit combo offered in this first round. Stuffing in so many that my piss will smell funny for a month, my delight in seeing further platters cater kindly to my sort was tempered by my inability to fit anything else in other than beer.

Next came the part I dread most at any gathering of celebratory significance; the speeches. Aside from fearing I may be implicated or incriminated in any way, I often feel anxious for the people expected to speak publicly when its the last thing most people like to do. Thankfully, the tales told by the brides father, the bridesmaid and the best man never ventured into territory untravelled by all except a select few. The highlight of my evening came when it was Trevor's turn to speak. 'Speak' is actually a misnomer because the tears came before any words did. My rock steady composure wavered when Trevor stepped away from the mike to throw out a few fresh air kicks and the odd shimmy in an effort to say something without sounding like his balls were dropping. A close friends daughter stood up from her front row seat on the floor and gave him a hug of support that drew my first tears and a collective sigh of adoration from the crowd. Thanking his sister for her love and support and recalling Hans' first declaration of pride reduced me to quiet sobs as I was reminded of the love and respect I hold for my own family members.

After working through his four 'post-it's worth of notes in triple the time it would have taken when he rehearsed it, Trevor's speech was done and all gathered were every bit as emotional as he was. The only solution was to crank up the tunes and get everyone groovin'. The claustrophobia of my clothes further hampered my ability to move rhythmically with any co-ordination so I sought sanctuary in the gardens now bathed in the light of a full moon.

From there I was still able to enjoy a few of Trevor's friends put the band out of work with their own musical homage's. I missed the bouquet being tossed and felt my present interest in all things matrimonial would have seen me pull an 'Up there Cazaly' on some unsuspecting hopeful. Thank-you's and good-byes were made by the newly weds and they headed off to enjoy the consummation they had been allowed to practice in the sound proof rooms of the house we shared. The crowds dwindled away, all probably seeking ways to end their night in a similar manner.

With hardly any more experience with weddings than Bucks party's, I thought the entire event had gone off without a hitch. At least, a hitch that was of any concern to someone not intimately involved with the planning or unfolding of proceedings. If the flawlessness of the day is any indication of what lays ahead for these two, their love will always be the envy of everyone lucky enough to share that special day with them.

Tags: friends, party, wedding

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