At 7am the morning of the wedding, I was on the phone, making sure E was awake. I would have been delighted with up-and-about, but awake was the minimum I was hoping for. No answer. I started to get myself ready, get the kids up, organise them and point lovely helpful Mum in the right direction to help me with them, still no call. Finally, as we are getting to be about half way ready, he rings, all fine, all going to Schedule...
Did I mention I can be a total control freak? I subscribe little to horoscopes but I do like the duality of the Libra sign - I am either micro-managing or SERIOUSLY couldn't give a toss. This morning, I was micro-managing on crack. My main fear was the horror that is the Gibraltar border crossing. Getting out seems to be no major problem but they really don't like to let you in there. It's not like you're getting into the garden of Eden, ffs, in fact quite the opposite. Gib is a strange place where the locals speak a strange Welsh-accented (what's that all about?) English that's organically intertwined with Spanish, which gets chopped and changed around according to no particular logic that I can establish. It's like Blackpool (sorry Blackpudlians) with mangy monkeys, sunshine and bloody great tankers parked in the sea. Not a pretty place. So why they feel the need to build up so much anticipation with hour-long queues is quite beyond me.
SO. The plan is we all leave at 8am to get there for 10am. In theory, an hour and bit away but I have made lots of allowance for traffic jams, always a possibility as it was nominally rush-hour. We are a little way behind E as - as tradition dictates! - he has stayed, at my suggestion, at a friends' house for the night, in order not to 'see the bride' in the morning. Did I mention this friend of his is a notorious party animal, famous for his ability to cajole E into most anything?? His sweet gf was there too but I had my doubts, let's put it like that, as to her efficacy with the pair of them.
We are all to Schedule, in the car, heading down the mountain from Mum and Dad's house. Time for another call, just to make sure they are keeping to the Schedule too. 0815hrs. THEY HAVE STILL NOT LEF THE HOUSE!! Claudia is putting her make-up on!!!!! Total freak-out. What if the traffic's bad? What if we can't get into Gib?? What if we miss our slot??
My pep talk left something to be desired, consisting as it did with, 'dump her, get in the car, you're ruining everything!!!!!!'. Hmmm..... I think a touch of subtlety was the main lacking ingredient, perhaps with a hint of moderation, could have been useful. All the way to the border I had sweaty palms - I seriously have not felt that stressy for so long, my life consisting as it does of doing nothing really important, just getting myself around on a day to day basis.
Despite my doom-laden predictions, we got there - and it was empty. There were a couple of cars in front of us and that was it. I have NEVER, in all these years of doing UK supermarket runs over the border, ever, ever, ever seen so few cars. It was clearly meant to be. So, we took the car over instead of dumping it and making a run for a taxi once through the border crossing, and parked in a large multi-storey carpark not far from the grotty main street, at the end of which was our destination. Most brides probably prepare in their homes, not far from the venue and then enter serenely in some appropriate mode of luxury transport. My first time was with a horse and carriage, as it happens. I hadn't actually changed before leaving as I didn't want my dress to resemble a used paper bag. So I got changed in the carpark. I am nothing if not adaptable. We then headed down through Bhs into Main Street to have a leisurely stroll past the unloading lorries and early-bird tourists out for a bargain.
I was keeping my eye out the whole time for E's little party of three: Our total guest list consisted of Mum, Dad, our boys and Claudia and Gigi, at whose house he'd stayed the night before. Walking towards the registry office, I spied them all at a café just ahead. So we made a quick detour into Marks and Spencers and hid out until Dad cried, 'Cave chaps!', at which point we made the final stretch.
Dad was walking ahead and by now, my hat was on and my bouquet was in place. Mum was slightly behind walking with the boys, bemused and already with their white shirts smudged with oil. I rounded the corner and Enrico was waiting - what a lovely memory, all in white with his hands to his mouth and tears in his eyes.
Anyway, there was lots of hanging around as the fastidious to the -nth degree registrar ('Your usual signature here please. What does that represent?', 'it says your father is a managing director - was? What kind of company was that?' SHEESH already) ensured the couple before us took happy memories away.
Then it was our turn. I can't really say I remember much about the ceremony, other than hoping that the fastidious to the -nth degree registrar wouldn't object to E's accented English and cancel the ceremony. And I had Gigi mugging and clowning around just in my eyeline by E's side. It was over quickly, but the registrar was a sweetie, very Old Skool, like a little red-haired vicar-y character from a 1950's farce. He smiled alot and wanted to make sure that we didn't feel rushed, there were lots of pics and it was all relaxed and just how we wanted it really. The boys, still bemused, handed over the rings and then it was over. We are husband and wife.
One problem with this kind of informal ceremony is just that - there is no pattern to follow, no reception to head to, nobody waiting for the photos to be taken, just the reason we did it like this of course, but it hadn't even occured to us what we were going to do between the end of the ceremony and the lunch we had booked at a Thai restaurant on the beach in Estepona. So we headed to a pub and Dad had a pint of John Smiths (and took a photo of it) and then we moved on to the restaurant.
The venue for lunch could not have been more stunning and more suitable. A gorgeous Thai restaurant by the Kempinski in Estepona, giving right onto a practically deserted beach with a glass-calm sea. The food had yet to arrive - when Enrico stood up to make a speech, which took us all by surprise. Before he even started to speak, I could feel a lump in my throat. When he started to speak about how his Mum would have loved to be there, he had to sit down to compose himself and Mum and I were already in full flow. He did a very traditional 'thanking everyone, so happy to be part of a new family' speech - but it was so full of emotion, so heart-felt that even Claudia, who doesn't speak English, was blowing into a hankie.
We ate, we went for a drink on our own then we went back to Mum and Dad's to see the kids and return to real life. It wasn't a traditional day. But frankly, as it's our second time for both of us, I would have felt faintly embarrassed and a bit of a fraud to stand up in front of a load of people repeating words I've said once before but with little conviction. This time, it was a ceremony for Enrico and I, making promises in public that we had made in private when the boys were born. Enrico's emotional words made it so special. Our lives haven't changed since, of course, it was more of a formality than anything but what a lovely, sentimental husband I have, I'm lucky and grateful for him, for better and for worse.
Did I mention I can be a total control freak? I subscribe little to horoscopes but I do like the duality of the Libra sign - I am either micro-managing or SERIOUSLY couldn't give a toss. This morning, I was micro-managing on crack. My main fear was the horror that is the Gibraltar border crossing. Getting out seems to be no major problem but they really don't like to let you in there. It's not like you're getting into the garden of Eden, ffs, in fact quite the opposite. Gib is a strange place where the locals speak a strange Welsh-accented (what's that all about?) English that's organically intertwined with Spanish, which gets chopped and changed around according to no particular logic that I can establish. It's like Blackpool (sorry Blackpudlians) with mangy monkeys, sunshine and bloody great tankers parked in the sea. Not a pretty place. So why they feel the need to build up so much anticipation with hour-long queues is quite beyond me.
SO. The plan is we all leave at 8am to get there for 10am. In theory, an hour and bit away but I have made lots of allowance for traffic jams, always a possibility as it was nominally rush-hour. We are a little way behind E as - as tradition dictates! - he has stayed, at my suggestion, at a friends' house for the night, in order not to 'see the bride' in the morning. Did I mention this friend of his is a notorious party animal, famous for his ability to cajole E into most anything?? His sweet gf was there too but I had my doubts, let's put it like that, as to her efficacy with the pair of them.
We are all to Schedule, in the car, heading down the mountain from Mum and Dad's house. Time for another call, just to make sure they are keeping to the Schedule too. 0815hrs. THEY HAVE STILL NOT LEF THE HOUSE!! Claudia is putting her make-up on!!!!! Total freak-out. What if the traffic's bad? What if we can't get into Gib?? What if we miss our slot??
My pep talk left something to be desired, consisting as it did with, 'dump her, get in the car, you're ruining everything!!!!!!'. Hmmm..... I think a touch of subtlety was the main lacking ingredient, perhaps with a hint of moderation, could have been useful. All the way to the border I had sweaty palms - I seriously have not felt that stressy for so long, my life consisting as it does of doing nothing really important, just getting myself around on a day to day basis.
Despite my doom-laden predictions, we got there - and it was empty. There were a couple of cars in front of us and that was it. I have NEVER, in all these years of doing UK supermarket runs over the border, ever, ever, ever seen so few cars. It was clearly meant to be. So, we took the car over instead of dumping it and making a run for a taxi once through the border crossing, and parked in a large multi-storey carpark not far from the grotty main street, at the end of which was our destination. Most brides probably prepare in their homes, not far from the venue and then enter serenely in some appropriate mode of luxury transport. My first time was with a horse and carriage, as it happens. I hadn't actually changed before leaving as I didn't want my dress to resemble a used paper bag. So I got changed in the carpark. I am nothing if not adaptable. We then headed down through Bhs into Main Street to have a leisurely stroll past the unloading lorries and early-bird tourists out for a bargain.
I was keeping my eye out the whole time for E's little party of three: Our total guest list consisted of Mum, Dad, our boys and Claudia and Gigi, at whose house he'd stayed the night before. Walking towards the registry office, I spied them all at a café just ahead. So we made a quick detour into Marks and Spencers and hid out until Dad cried, 'Cave chaps!', at which point we made the final stretch.
Dad was walking ahead and by now, my hat was on and my bouquet was in place. Mum was slightly behind walking with the boys, bemused and already with their white shirts smudged with oil. I rounded the corner and Enrico was waiting - what a lovely memory, all in white with his hands to his mouth and tears in his eyes.
Anyway, there was lots of hanging around as the fastidious to the -nth degree registrar ('Your usual signature here please. What does that represent?', 'it says your father is a managing director - was? What kind of company was that?' SHEESH already) ensured the couple before us took happy memories away.
Then it was our turn. I can't really say I remember much about the ceremony, other than hoping that the fastidious to the -nth degree registrar wouldn't object to E's accented English and cancel the ceremony. And I had Gigi mugging and clowning around just in my eyeline by E's side. It was over quickly, but the registrar was a sweetie, very Old Skool, like a little red-haired vicar-y character from a 1950's farce. He smiled alot and wanted to make sure that we didn't feel rushed, there were lots of pics and it was all relaxed and just how we wanted it really. The boys, still bemused, handed over the rings and then it was over. We are husband and wife.
One problem with this kind of informal ceremony is just that - there is no pattern to follow, no reception to head to, nobody waiting for the photos to be taken, just the reason we did it like this of course, but it hadn't even occured to us what we were going to do between the end of the ceremony and the lunch we had booked at a Thai restaurant on the beach in Estepona. So we headed to a pub and Dad had a pint of John Smiths (and took a photo of it) and then we moved on to the restaurant.
The venue for lunch could not have been more stunning and more suitable. A gorgeous Thai restaurant by the Kempinski in Estepona, giving right onto a practically deserted beach with a glass-calm sea. The food had yet to arrive - when Enrico stood up to make a speech, which took us all by surprise. Before he even started to speak, I could feel a lump in my throat. When he started to speak about how his Mum would have loved to be there, he had to sit down to compose himself and Mum and I were already in full flow. He did a very traditional 'thanking everyone, so happy to be part of a new family' speech - but it was so full of emotion, so heart-felt that even Claudia, who doesn't speak English, was blowing into a hankie.
We ate, we went for a drink on our own then we went back to Mum and Dad's to see the kids and return to real life. It wasn't a traditional day. But frankly, as it's our second time for both of us, I would have felt faintly embarrassed and a bit of a fraud to stand up in front of a load of people repeating words I've said once before but with little conviction. This time, it was a ceremony for Enrico and I, making promises in public that we had made in private when the boys were born. Enrico's emotional words made it so special. Our lives haven't changed since, of course, it was more of a formality than anything but what a lovely, sentimental husband I have, I'm lucky and grateful for him, for better and for worse.
1 comment:
Rachael that is such a wonderful account of the day- and I was nowhere near at the time but now I feel I know what happened. You have a way with words. Though you are getting a bit filthy gobbed, my dear, even in shorthand. Loads of love and congratulations again, Jxxxxx
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