A Tale of Two Weddings
I have just spent the last couple of days at one of Cheshire’s premier hotels. I won’t name it because the people that I saw there were, frankly, terrifying…….Suffice to say that Take That we’re regular visitors there back in the day and, Wayne Rooney is a near neighbour.
I was there for a wedding – thankfully at a different venue, and, with a VERY different party. The contrast between the two could not have been starker. One was classy, under-stated, charming, moving and fuelled by fine wine, champagne and real ale; the other was the, well, the opposite and fuelled by house wine, vodka (smuggled in by the guests rather than bought by the bar), Botox and Boddingtons. It was not quite Big Fat Gypsy Wedding but it was TOWIE meets the Umpa Lumpas…with a Manchester accent.
Now, I admit that I was sat in the bar having a drink to calm my nerves when the Others (guests of the other wedding) started to arrive, but I do not believe that my couple of pints of Stella influenced my first impressions. I was calming my nerves because I was making the “Father of the Bride” speech and walking my sister-in-law down the aisle later that afternoon.
But, soon, the peace and quiet of my oak panelled respite was shattered. Soon the Others began to arrive. The two different families were easily spotted. On the groom’s side, the men favoured the “Vinnie Jones” look – all shaved heads, square jaws, and puffed out chests; on the bride’s side, the men looked as if they had walked out of Oasis, and went to the same hairdresser as Paul Weller.
On the bride’s side, the women were tall, very tall. And, it was not just the six inch heels that they were tottering on (to the point of falling) that made them tall. They were physically tall. Six footers to a (cross dressing) man, with legs that went on forever. Their heels were as tall as their skirts and dresses were short. My companions and I were slumped into leather arm chairs and had to avert our eyes on many an occasion to avoid glimpses of thongs, or worse. Now, to be fair, not all of the outfits were short. Some of the leggy girls favoured flared cat suit type trousers. But even they had chosen transparent fabric to show their underwear, or lack thereof, off to its best……
The female guests on the groom’s side were, well, a little more rotund. But, they were no less backward in their desire to display what they had.
The Arndale Centre must have been empty on Friday. Stocks of Botox and self-tanning products must now be at an all time low in the department stores of South Manchester. Some serious restocking of fascinators, false eyelashes and nails across Greater Manchester will be required before the Spring wedding rush.
I joke not. One of my party had to come to the rescue one of the leggy number after she had dropped her handbag. Her skirt was so tight that she could not Ben enough to retrieve the bag. Even if she had been able to bend, the height of her heels would still have left her several inches short of being able to pick the bag up.
The blokes all sported pint glasses, attitude, and shiny grey suits. There were many complaints about the cost of the beer and wine on offer in the bar.
The tall bride, resplendent in her feather strewn dress – she looked as if the final act of Swan Lake was about to be performed – was accompanied by an entourage of tall bridesmaid’s in black and an Alsatian (I joke you not) in a tutu…….
It was hard to tell whether the official photographers had been provided by Cheshire Life or Channel Four. It was Madchester at its best.
Our wedding was somewhat different……
Entry filed under: middleman. Tags: Arndale Centre, Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, Boddingtons, Botox, Botulinum toxin, cheshire, Father of the Bride, Greater Manchester, Paul Weller, take that, TOWIE, Vinnie Jones, wayne rooney.