12:30PM, GMT: Our clothes for the wedding are hopelessly wrinkled, even after spending the night hanging free and easy in the wardrobe. There is no iron to be found in the room and quite frankly, I don't care. Jay and I decide to embrace the role of crumpy, frumpy, Midwest bumpkins; besides, no one will be looking at us so it really makes no difference as long we're not throwing off stink lines a la Pigpen.
Pigpen ... not us
Our local English sources informed us months in advance that wedding receptions in Britain vary somewhat from those that we are accustomed to in the States. We've been disabused of the notion that there will be an open bar and have been alerted to the fact that words and phrases will be in play that do not mean what we, or Merriam-Webster, think they mean.
For example, the reception is not always referred to as a reception. Instead, the term wedding breakfast may be used. But don't be fooled - a wedding breakfast is a dinner given to the bride, groom, and their guests after the wedding. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, oatmeal, and orange juice do not make an appearance. This is indeed a puzzlement.
Turns out the wedding breakfast is a nod to tradition. Who doesn't like tradition? I do; it always makes me think of Fiddler on the Roof.
So what's the tradition here? Back in the pre-Reformation days the wedding service was always a Mass; therefore, the bride and groom would fast before the wedding and would then break their fast upon the ceremony's completion, hence the term wedding breakfast. Yes, Virginia, back in the old days you weren't allowed to take communion if you ate after daybreak.
Another interesting morsel of knowledge ... invitations often have a phrase printed on them that reads: carriages at midnight. When Jay and I first read that on our invite, the joint Stinktown response was, "A carriage ride at midnight in London ... how cool is that?"
It probably would have been quite cool, both literally and figuratively, if "carriages at midnight" meant what we thought it did. But as you've probably guessed by now, it did not. It's a polite, traditional way of saying, "The party's over at midnight and we're releasing the hounds, so get the hell out!"
Our essential takeaway, reinforced by a friend from Northern England, is: best just keep your mouths shut (especially you, Brenda) and enjoy a drink or two. With this sage advice in mind, we load up the special occasion flask with strong American bourbon and make our way back to the Tube for the next leg of our adventure.
A necessary provision
2PM, GMT: The wedding is being held at the Church of Saint Anselm and Saint Cecilia in Kingsway. We find it easily thanks to clearly written directions provided by the bride and groom and it's a charming, early 20th Century church - the building dates back to 1909 but there has been a Roman Catholic Church on this site for something like 300 years.
Jay and I have a quick family reunion with the small US contingent that has made the journey across the sea back to the Mother Country and then it's time for the ceremony. It's a lovely, thoughtful, and moving wedding with a choir that provides wonderful, uplifting music that even the most cynical and non-religious guests can enjoy.
Lauren, the lovely bride, being escorted down the aisle by her dad
4PM, GMT: Wonderful, warm, luxurious coaches (AKA charter buses in America) provide transport for guests from the church to the private club where the reception / wedding breakfast is being held. This is a kind, thoughtful gesture on someone's part and we truly appreciate it. The drive from Kingsway to Pall Mall also serves as a kind of of city tour for Jason and me and we oooooohh and ahhhhhhhhhh as we pass Trafalgar Square and various museums and the Eleanor Cross outside of Charing Cross Station.
We gawk even more upon entering the Club, which looks like a museum in its own right and is a male domain limited to graduates of certain prestigious English universities. They don't make 'em like this in Stinktown; and even if they did, we certainly don't travel in those social circles. Now that I think about it, we don't even have a social circle ... what Jay and I have is more like a wide reaching, insidious fog.
There are strict rules to be followed in the Club, among them no photography other than in the Coffee Room, Smoking Room, and Reception Room. I now feel like we are in the midst of a live game of Clue, turn to Jay and say, "Colonel Mustard did it in the Library with a first edition of Thackery's Vanity Fair."
Although we're not supposed to wander about, I do seize an opportunity to slip into the Library and ogle the books for a few moments. I breathe in the slightly musty scent of old volumes and wander around the shelves before I remember that I'm not supposed to be in here fondling centuries of accumulated knowledge. I beat a hasty retreat so that Jay and I can join the rest of the guests for the clinking of champagne glasses.
Congrats to Lauren & Matthew!
Impromptu family portrait
Hoovers Doovers!
The reception room
I don't know who this was but he looks better in tights than I do
5PM, GMT: The call for family pictures pulls us back downstairs and by the time we're finished we've missed the champagne refill. Jay offers to share his bourbon but since there are four of us who thirst for a drink we decide to go find the bar. On the way downstairs I spot a saucy statue wearing a hat and leaning on a sword with his junk hanging out for all the world to admire and pose for what may be the most immature and inappropriate photo ever taken on the Club's main staircase. So much for being on my good behavior.
Have I shown you this ...?
Some people are sooooo immature!
6PM, GMT: The surliest Eastern European bartender known to man works at the Club and he is not happy when we wander in to place a drink order, even though we're the only people in the bar. First he tells us that our bar will open at 11PM that evening ... then he lectures us on the decline of the American nation ... and then he makes me the best damn Pimm's Cup I've ever had.
Jay snaps a picture at my request only to have Surly Joe bark that photography is not allowed. We then receive a lecture on how inadequate the protection is on our credit cards ... what with the lack of an embedded chip, and no photo ID requirement, and not even a pin number to verify the authenticity of a transaction. We've been in London for less than 48 hours and we're already sick and tired of this song. As we take our drinks and head back to the dining room Jay leans down and whispers to me, "The city of London has been around for two thousand years and he wants to lecture us about credit card security when they can't even figure out how to utilize technology that combines hot and cold water into one faucet?"
I giggle and snort Pimm's simultaneously.
Beautiful bride Lauren and her handsome, distracted groom
9PM, GMT: Dinner was a tasty three-course affair with wine, followed by wedding cake and other sweets served in an upstairs reception room. Jay and I don't linger long, however, because a ceilidh is starting in the main room where we had dinner. Not only are we curious as to what this is, but we'd like to know how to pronounce it, too.
It ends up being the forefather of American square dancing! And it's pronounced kay-lee (at least that's how it sounded to us). And there is a lovely young lady walking everyone through the steps. Jay and I watch the first dance and then decide to take the plunge before the dances get any more difficult ... which they do. We choose what looks to be a safe spot among the circle of dancers and find ourselves next to the groom's parents. I warn them that I'm not particularly graceful and they might want to give us some extra room.
They laugh politely, "Don't you worry ... it will be fine."
Five minutes into the dance yours truly gets turned around, steps the wrong way, and accidentally elbows the groom's mother right in the side of her head. I feel terrible, and judging by the way my elbow is smarting, so does she. I apologize repeatedly and once the song is over, let Jay lead me from the floor. Now I remember why we don't usually dance ... I'm a menace.
Graceful young people having fun with a Ceilidh
10PM, GMT: Jay and I make our exit, bidding goodbye to Lauren and other members of our family that we will likely not see again until we get back to the US. We hail a cab outside the club and it must be the cleanest vehicle known to man. There's not a spec of dust or dried goo to be found and it doesn't reek of smoke; in fact, it doesn't reek of anything. Our driver is so polite that when we try to tip him he says we're being too generous.
Too generous?
We love London.
Quite possibly my most favorite line of yours ever..."what Jay and I have is more like a wide reaching, insidious fog." hahahahahah!
ReplyDeleteI love you guys. :)