THE OCCASIONAL LEG

There are two reception rooms. The Brown and the Green. Both connected to the ballroom. Yes, that ballroom, with the patch of many scratches, previously created by a boy and his best friend. It’s a Saturday afternoon and wedding number two in Brown is in full swing. About 130 guests in attendance, with good cheer in full flow. That is with the exception of — the Bride.

Now let me just say at this juncture in the proceedings, that everything was going so well. Until yours truly served two bowls of tomato soup into the Brides lap. It also has to be said that a gangly arm-waving Bride’s Father was involved too, as in connecting with said soup bowls. “What a pathetic excuse.” I hear you say.

The Bride, now back in her changing room, is getting out of her somewhat soggy bridal gown. Mother, my mother that is, requires Father to drop me off at the local dry cleaners. Arriving with what at first glance looks like a soggy bloody mess — the owner of the said establishment wants none of it. Arms up, and violently shaking his head — is the welcome this savior of the moment receives.

Taste it then, I said stupidly — with a schoolboys grin. At that precise moment, the phone rings and it turns out to be Mother demanding an ETA on the gown. The phone now back in its cradle, the owner turns his aloof gaze to me. Well, he says, face now morphing into a half evil grin, we can blast it with steam, hope for the best or wait for an hour or so to clean it correctly? By the way, that question mark was aimed at this schoolboy. No adult, collaborative responsibility to be had here.

Now, I’m caught between a demented owner, and Mother who remember can stop a rhino at ten paces, with the dreaded words “Peter Andrew”. Now dear reader, what would you have me do? The phone rings again, I shout out to the evil grin, “blast it with steam” thinking its Mother calling.

Aided by a blast of watery steam, “hey presto” the soggy red mass has disappeared. Until that is, a somewhat light pink colour starts to reveal itself. Yes, you guessed it, the evil grin is back. With an evil eye added to his visual vocabulary. More he snaps? Why not — thinks this adventurer, of all matters pertaining to wedding gowns. Why not indeed. But more of that later.

Let’s for a moment turn our collective attention to wedding number one in the Greenroom. A 60 plus event started earlier. Greeted by Moneypenny (The nickname for our Head Receptionist, think 007) who cajoles the guests into the Green Room, whilst placing a glass of dry sherry into their unhelpful hands. In turn deftly diverting the bridal party into the ballroom, for an obligatory need.

Here in this gorgeous, sunlit ballroom, (with the patch of many scratches) photos of the big day are recorded, some images if you had asked my Father — were best kept trapped in the lens.

Especially when one or two of the bridal party are already tipsy. Not forgetting those sour images driven by a family feud, or meeting the ex- wife’s new lover, who’s as handsome, as you’ll never be. I hear you snigger, “who can blame them”, when you look at this assembled (“disassembled” might be a more apt word) group, dressed in the most ill-fitting clothes, known to the human anatomy.

Think rented (too many times) morning suits, and overly tight dresses with dangerous zips, worn at many previous nuptials. Or worse, someone else in a similar outfit. Or the Father of the Bride’s second wife, with the big hat cutting the first wife out of the photograph.

Then there’s the somewhat comical body language. As in, oh no — Uncle (leering) Bill, don’t bloody well stand next to me. And maybe best forgotten, the black sheep of the family, not looking into the camera. Discovered in the darkroom days later, with no swapping heads photoshop, available in that era.

This particular wedding party had its full share of family issues. Including the Best Man who has his own sleazy part to play — as we will see. Nothing in a boys life is as simple as it should be. Well not with this particular wedding in the Greenroom. Not on this day. Having seated everyone, and with the Bride and Groom seated too, the festivities begin. Yours truly bringing in the melon starter with the finest parma ham, to the serving table, for the wait staff to place in front of each guest.

As the first course is being cleared — it begins. With scowling faces and “get off me’s” being blurted out mainly by the lady guests. Strangely enough, it’s linear too. As in, it starts at one end of the U shaped table layout and seems to work its way around. But what is creating all this palaver, this somewhat comical behavior? Mother unannounced sweeps in — no, not a good omen.

Something is definitely amiss here. Some ladies even claiming that their legs were touched by a hand of the male species. Mother now fully surveying the scene, asks the wedding guests to kindly vacate to the ballroom where complimentary drinks will be served. Shutting off both exits, Mothers not to be dismissed Germanic accent, demands I fetch Father immediately.

Oh, woe is me or words to that effect pass through this little head. Fetching Father to the Green Room, Mother requests that Bodo the boxer be removed, wherever he is? It’s a total mystery to this now grown-up schoolboy, how Mother ever knew this? Yes, Bodo had somehow sneaked in earlier, lay down and taken a dog like nap under the U shaped table. Awakening, goes on safari for dropped food, inadvertently brushing up against the occasional leg.

Father now lifts the heavy linen table cloth at one end of the U, exposing a bemused Bodo. Shifting his head one way, then another — looking somewhat pleased with himself. Spotting Mother, Bodo bounds over to me, sits, instantly ensnaring me as his co-conspirator, in this very naughty behavior. Sadly, our “in the dog house time” is only postponed until my wedding duties are complete.

You see on these particular days Bodo is kept in a spare room supposedly under lock and key. This young in the clouds head has a tendency to forget simple instructions. Scatterbrained — is the word Mother would use. Here’s the maddening thing though. I never did figure out who Bodo’s escape accomplice was. It certainly wasn't Barrel the cellar cat — a sworn enemy at 20 paces.

Now resumed, this Green Room wedding is blessed with riches of the financial variety. No expense was and had been spared. No small glasses of toasting here. The champagne flowed as if they had some foresight about today, in that it is said, “it can help memory loss”. (Mmm?) This “no small glasses of toasting” led the Bride to be overcome — with the vapors of too many bubbles and unceremoniously, perambulated to her room, for a short sober respite.

On another bubbly note, the Brides brother was found staggering, leaning against the walls on the upper floors. Telling the maids, whilst weeping profusely, he was looking for a deceased lover, yet they knew his wife was at the reception downstairs, as they were guests at the hotel too. Who is this dead lover our head housekeeper inquired? Mothers look, now a picture of discretion.

Let’s return to the Best Man, mentioned earlier, as having a part in all this. An obnoxious weasel, who had caused titillation and all manner of nonsense when the wedding photos were being taken — and was a touch (the appropriate word here) too friendly with the Bride. The Groom, in a state of much “champagness” too, blurringly asking after his newly wedded spouse. Hearing his good friend, his gallant Best Man strode off to enquire after the Brides sobriety.

Let’s pivot back to wedding number one in the Brown room. Picked up by my Father, I return triumphantly from the dry cleaners with the Brides gown. A tad pinkish, yet wearable. Up through the rear hotel entrance we go, and down to the Brides changing room at a brisk pace. Knocking then banging on the door, with much joy at our speedy endeavors. With no response — we enter.

What transpired was not for these inexperienced eyes. With much huffing and puffing the Best Man is partaking in some “hanky panky" — with the Bride, supposedly taking a short, sober, respite.

The tad pinkish wedding gown and my good self, suddenly propelled in a cartoonish manner, out of the room, by Father. Yes, we are in the wrong changing room. Be in no doubt, there will be parental words later — to this good Catholic boy, as to what was just encountered.

In the most sublime of ways, let’s draw a timely veil over these two weddings and its cast of ubiquitous characters. With a preview for the next vignette going something like this. “Slick” the band leader, the knocked out wife, the other wife, big George, a Tampax machine and heaven help us another woman. Bodo alas — will be in there somewhere too.

But I digress. Does “hanky panky". make more sense now? Yes. Think “birds and the bees". Does the wedding photographer avoid “the patch of many scratches” on the ballroom floor? Who knows? Do Bodo and his chum end the day in the dog house? Yes, Mother saw to that.

© Peter Wood 2024