This year’s Bloggers Bash takes place on 19th May. Some people have noted there is a Royal Wedding and the FA Cup final that day, but it also has another claim to fame and one of which attendees need to be cognisant:
My 34th Wedding Anniversary
(apparently you give gifts made of freshly baked grins, sprinkled with cardamon-scented sniggers)
In celebration of this confluence of confabulatory congratulations, I take you back to that rather big day in the life of this particular Le Pard
In mid 1983, I lived in a flat in Tooting, South London. For those in love with the absurdity of British place names, to live somewhere called Tooting makes everything seem just that little bit more jolly. Had I been a resident of Dull, or worse, Bored I wonder if what happened next would in fact have slipped past in a cloud of ennui and apathy.
I proposed.
Even that’s up for dispute. We’d bought the flat, learnt to drive and bought the car, holidayed ‘abroad’ and we’d even acquired a food mixer. In those Yuppie Years when materiality was a lifestyle choice not a prioritisation of options, we’d bought ourselves the trappings of any ambitious young couple so what was left?
We were, from memory, sitting on the new carpet in the sitting room – the sofa was on order but back then it took some nine weeks to come – having a break from putting together a bedside cabinet, which, as seems still to be the case, had instructions translated by a left-brained moron from the original Swahili, via Basque – when the subject of holidays came up.
‘What about next year?’
‘Europe? Maybe a city break?’
‘Vienna? Venice?’
‘Maybe we should get married, make it a honeymoon?’
Who uttered those words? Me? I can’t be sure. But somewhere we both found ourselves in a conversation which appeared to have developed around us, with the ‘marriage’ question having been posed, answered and already become received wisdom.
I think we were both a little stunned that we’d finally agreed to do what had taken us seven years. Most people have an itch at year seven. We had Wedlock Impetigo to scratch.
It turned out that was, in fact, the easy bit. After that the difficulties arose like fresh outbreaks of scrofulous:
- the date: all important parties had to be consulted and big important occasions – viz the Lord’s Test and the Quilt Show weekend – avoided
- the venue: custom suggests you go to the Bride’s home but I had two ancient grandmas for whom travelling was a chore so we ended up in Hampshire
- the reception and, specifically who was going to pay – neither of a our parents were flush with readies and both of us liked the idea of controlling the event by paying for it… if only we had a little spare of our own
- the guest list: now call me mean spirited but my mother and I had the, ‘mother’ of run ins over this aspect – one advantage that my mother in law’s ability to fall out with all her family at various times brought us was a sparse list of persona grata from her side, but my mother was in a different class, to whit…
(me reading a list Mum gave me) ‘Who’s Marjorie, Mum?’
‘Your father’s great aunt; independent and smells of beetroot.’
‘Do I know her?’
‘No darling, she’s rather lacking in the graces but she likes a good do. You’ll like her.’
‘And Joan? And Vernon?’
‘Your father’s second cousin and his second wife. They hid your father in 1943 when he had been caught poaching with Sid…’
‘Sid? Who’s Sid?’
‘The poacher darling, Sid Seeley. He taught your father to tickle trout though Edgar thought him uncouth because he tied sisal round his trousers – to stop the rats.’
‘Edgar? Wasn’t he dad’s uncle?’
‘That’s right. Married your great Aunt Vera after the Marmalade Embarrassment of 1923…’
‘Are you planning on inviting them? They’re not on this list.’
‘Hardly, dear. They died long since.’
‘Mum why do we have to invite these strangers to my wedding?’
‘They’re not strangers. They’re family.’
‘But I’ve never met them. I’ve not even heard of them.’
‘But that’s why people have weddings, so you can meet your relatives.’
‘No Mum. If you’ve not thought fit to introduce me to these people in my 28 years, you’re not about to fill up the pews of the Church with a random selection of strangers…’
‘But darling…’
‘No, Mum, and that’s final.’
Yeah sure, it was. We compromised and allowed anyone who I’d seen within the last fifteen years to come plus three free selections of Mum’s choosing. Of course they were lovely and when, finally, Mum and Dad celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary and I met met a lot of them, they were all charming and interesting and interested. But at least I didn’t have the added stress of making small talk with a roomful of wandering ne’er-do-wells…
There was a lot of planning; in my memory I took a full part in that process. In practice I think I nodded a lot. By this time in my relationship with the Textiliste we had developed the Trio-Pick Protocol for all big decisions, which, in essence goes like this:
Her: ‘We need a so-and-so (viz: wallpaper, washing machine, small tool for extracting egregious stones/glass/neighbours/threatening letters from a foot/finger/window/letterbox)’
Me: ‘Erm…’
Her: ‘I’ll do some research and then we can decide.’
Me: ‘Great.’
[a week/day/unconscionably short period later]
Her: ‘I’ve whittled it down to these three…’ [Note: it is critical that the list is no longer than three but to avoid MEM (male ego meltdown) there must be three]
Me: (girding loins and other girdable accoutrements) ‘I think A…’
Her: ‘Really? You don’t think it’s too pink?’
Me: (quickly) ‘I meant B… didn’t I?’
Her: ‘Too French?’
Me: (nervy laughter) ‘Did I say B? Of course, C.’
Her: ‘C? Are you sure? I mean, it was my preference but…’
Me: ‘Definitely C.’
Somehow we got there. Perhaps the biggest challenge were the rings. Hers. I have, had this thing about rings, stemming, as did so much, from my father’s prejudices. At some point, some years before I’d come across this gold ring in a box with a small thread tied round it. When I asked Mum what it was she smiled indulgently. ‘It’s your father’s wedding ring. He’s never liked wearing it.’
I don’t remember her explaining why, probably because she didn’t need to. It was implied. Rings were for girls.
So when I was asked if I was getting a ring, I dissembled, shuffled my feet and generally looked anywhere but at those two questioning blue eyes. When I did look, she too had an indulgent smile.
Similar to my mother’s but with a twist; a twist that said, ‘This will cost you, Buster.’
I should perhaps note here, given the rather gauche proposal, that I hadn’t obtained an engagement ring in advance. This wasn’t because I had doubts we would become as one but rather for the reasons explained above. It was inconceivable that I would go off on my own and buy something as deeply personal, so redolent of beauty and art as an engagement ring without her choosing it. I mean, really?
I might be getting married, but that didn’t mean I’d not suddenly discovered good taste…
Next time: The Big Day
Don’t forget to buy your ticket for The Bloggers Bash on May 19th, 2018. Click here for full details.
TanGental 
Congratulations on this landmark. Next year, 35th will be Coral so nice pressie for the Missus eh?
Oh yes, the family invites. First time round, I had a traditional do, just got hitched to the wrong guy. Second time, Hubby and I just went and did it, seven witnesses: my parents, his parents, and three friends. Brilliant day.
My nephew went one better and went to Gretna Green with his girlfriend. They came back as Man and Wife. They were fed up with family feuds and parents with new partners who didn’t get on. Good for them, three kids later and still going strong.
LikeLiked by 1 person
All sounds rather splendid. Hope my kids take the cheap options
LikeLike
Ha! Set them a challenge for the naffest gift for a quid Geoff. We did it at Christmas for the adults, but kids always got a nice pressie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
LOL. You left us hanging about the ring? Geoff… 😉 Nicely done. I’m still chuckling about a place being named Tooting. Hugs!
LikeLike
oh those stupid names; my brother lives just outside Piddle Hinton in Dorset; it really shouldn’t be allowed…
LikeLike
Happy anniversary! It’s ours today. We are celebrating by John flying off to China on business. Oh well, we’ve had a few before (this is number 37) and hope to have a few more in future, so what’s one missing anniversary?
LikeLiked by 1 person
hey happy days; I’m sure John will return with a suitable present…
LikeLike
Presents from China tend to be … variable.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A lifetime presidency…
LikeLike
Ha ha – one hopes not! Gifts tend to be what he is given by his hosts. Tea, yes I love. Chinese spirit – no, no, no! I’ll be happy if he buys me cheese and chocolate from Amsterdam airport.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Really enjoyed this!
LikeLike
marvellous; it can be done with infinite patience and a shared love of cake…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great post. And congratulations on not following the trend of writing an apology for missing an anniversary AFTER the event!
LikeLike
I’m in a new pre-phase…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, wow! Happy anniversary, Geoff! 34 years!! Wonderful!
LikeLike
it’s getting to be permanent; the present Mrs Le Pard will be getting ideas…
LikeLiked by 1 person
😊😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Loved this, Buster. I’m going to use the Textiliste’s Trio-Pick Protocol from now on. Wish I’d been that clever for the last 24 years but never too late I suppose… 😀
LikeLike
feel free; it’s part of the glue that’s held us together along with her ability to keep laughing at the same anecdote and her lack of a sense of smell…
LikeLiked by 1 person
😆
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m amazed you can remember so much! Happy anniversary – your bride is indeed lovely!
LikeLike
I was off the drugs at that stage…
LikeLike
Oh I loved reading that!
So do we need to make fruitcake… for your anniversary??? 🌝
LikeLike
now that would be nice… royal icing?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Full on wedding cake, eh!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a lovely post, Geoff, congratulations on 34 years together. I do love the way you manage to reach the right decision in the end, – with a little help from the missus! 🙂
LikeLike
always accept guidance… you know it makes sense
LikeLiked by 1 person
I wish we all still had that lovely brown hair! I didn’t appreciate it at the time …
Nice post, one of the responses to which has supplied an answer to something I keep meaning to check – what to give for a 35th Anniversary (my sister’s this year)!
LikeLike
i should have posted a picture of you the wedding; you’ve not changed….
LikeLike
Congratulations! This Bash is going to have some side issues I see – solved perhaps by two large tellies set up at opposite ends of the room………..???
LikeLike
I’m not sure Linda would appreciate broadcasting her day…
LikeLike
Lovely story, I recall done of this and I am not an ancient fly on the wall you must of mentioned some of this before.. a lovely post beautifully written with love and whit! 💜💜
LikeLike
thanks Willow; yes I’m sure I repeat myself
LikeLike
I didn’t mean to say that sorry, I meant it was enjoyable to read and fresh .
LikeLike
Congratulations to you both. Lovely picture – of The Textiliste, at least 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Massive congrats Geoffle – I loved the proposal haha! Looking forward to the next installmemt…
LikeLiked by 1 person
So you didn’t go down on one knee and beg? I love the thought of a ‘beetroot’ smelling relative. And in regards to ‘which one shall we have’, it happens to me, as well, when asked what do I want for Sunday lunch? Chicken or beef? I always give an answer but end up eating whatever else was an option.
I’ll say my congratulations when I see you at the Bash.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thanks but maybe save them for Linda!!
LikeLike
Pingback: Wedding Daze | TanGental