Saturday morning came upon us very quickly, I had set my alarm clock for 6 am but woke about 5 am, as usual, so I made myself a coffee and had an hour sat in peace reading one of the many books in the cottage. The children had bathed and showered the night before, I had done my nails, so it was only Mr G and I who needed showering. I don't think we've ever been so relaxed getting ready for a wedding, to be honest! I think we were all done by 9 am, and I just barked 'sit there, don't move, don't breathe, don't eat or drink anything!' at the boys.
I knew the colour theme of the wedding was purples and cream, so I decided to choose clothes for us that complimented the theme.
|Mr G looking very smart indeed|
|Me and the boys|
As Mr G has lost so much weight his suits were literally wrapping around him! He treated himself to a lovely blue three piece suit, and the lilac shirt and tie he wore were the ones he wore on our wedding day! That was a nice touch. The boys had lovely two-tone shirts from Debenhams, Cait chose a dress from New Look.
|A proper young lady now|
|We scrub up well, considering|
The taxi came for us and took us on the five minute journey to the Mid Norfolk Railway station. This is a steam railway station in Dereham, and it is like an old fashioned station, its decor and everything. Absolutely lovely. I knew that the big day had been catered to M&A's likes. Which I suppose is as it should be, how many people spend a fortune on their big day and it just isn't them? Posh hotels, 'burp and you're hungry again' meals that cost more per head than you'd pay for a family of four to eat for a week? I don't get why people do it, if they don't live like that anyway? This wedding had incorporated what they liked and who they were as a couple.
A big marquee was on the car park, and after greeting the groom and his brother, we went inside where the staff were serving mini danish pastries and tea and coffee while we waited for the transport to the church. The marquee was kitted out in bunting and flowers too.
|Just point me to the Maple and Pecan danish and I'll be on my way...|
Then our transport showed up. The church was so remote and with so little parking that everyone was requested to use the provided transport. It would have been a no brainer anyway. In a nod to A's London roots, they had hired an old red London double decker bus! Who wouldn't want a ride on it?
We got on the bus and received a ticket each, which was a nice touch and something for the memory jar. We decided to sit upstairs and the back seat was empty, so Mr G and I bagged that. The first time we'd ever sat on the back seat of a bus together.
After about an hour, we reached the remote church where the marriage was taking place. In the car park, posh portaloos were laid on, as we would have been about three to four hours without a loo otherwise. I found the vicar and she gave me my printed copy of the poem I was reading out in church. We took our places in the pews and the bride arrived, traditionally late. I'm not one for crying at weddings, but she looked so beautiful that I teared up. They had requested that no photographs be taken during the ceremony, aside from the official photographer, so I didn't get any inside the church.
|Bride and Groom with their readers|
Once all the confetti had been thrown, and the photographs taken, it was time to go back on the bus back to the station for the reception. This is when 'BeaverGate' occurred.
At some point over the last few months, I could have swore that Mary said to me that there was family coming over from Canada for the wedding. So, upon hearing the accent, we decided to be friendly and speak to this chap. Caitlin has a thing about accents, so the conversation went a little something like this.
Caitlin: I LOVE your accent!
Canadian: Thank you.
Me: You're Canadian, aren't you?
Canadian: Yes. Yes I am.
Caitlin: Do you have bears in Canada?
Canadian: Yes, we have bears, and a lot of deer.
Big mistake. Biiiiiiiiiiiig mistake. After a potted history of every single famous and noteworthy Canadian, including those who weren't born Canadian but who moved there and changed nationality... this then occurred.
Canadian: Interesting story, which you probably won't know. You know how the Catholics, on a Friday, they traditionally eat fish?
Canadian: Well. It's not always so easy to catch fish in Canada during bad weather, so the head of the church, you know, the Pope, decreed that, as they generally congregate in water... if you were Catholic, you could eat beaver on a Friday.
As I stared at the Canadian, his words reverberating around my brain 'You could eat beaver on a Friday', I felt my body begin to betray me in the worst way imaginable. I knew that sat to my immediate left, my husband would have an evil glint in his eye. I could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. I was too polite to burst out laughing and so as I held it in, the mirth manifested by my body jerking violently, and my eyes streamed with tears, ruining my eye make up. I turned to Mr G, who was, as always, deadpan. Poker faced.
Mr G: Ah! That's interesting. And have you ever eaten beaver on a Friday?
You'd think that would have finished me off. But no, there was more.
Canadian: No sir! I have never eaten beaver, at all.
Said without even the briefest hint of irony or innuendo. I was crying, properly crying at this point. Mr G still deadpan. But this still wasn't the end of it, oh no.
Mr G: I'd imagine it tastes a bit... fishy?
That finished me off. That.