When I was getting married in '98, there was alot to do, which my wife did. I drove and said 'Yes'...alot. I did get chucked out a wedding shop (sort of). My wife was trying on shoes to go with her dress and I was there on a consultation basis and unfortunately I ventured too far into an area where brides-to-be might be coming out - with their dresses on. Apparently this encroachment totally fucked them up and some wee lassie politely told me to leave. I explained why I was there and she still said 'leave'.
In one other shop the girls seemed totally perplexed that her husband was sitting there helping her choose her wedding dress. The reason why is that I had this nightmare of turning round on the day and thinking 'she looks crap', so I thought I'd cover it and help her choose the dress. We have a similar taste anyway and we were both happy with the choice. And it turned out well anyway, cos on the day, I had no memory at all of what the dress looked liked til she walked down the aisle in the castle.
Anyway, one day we were trying to choose the band and been told they were playing at a wedding reception at a hotel in Stepps, north east of Glasgow. A wee drive. We made the effort and went there and parked up and headed into the hotel and ask at the desk where the wedding reception was, and were pointed in the direction of it.
There were double doors and I pushed them open. Weird. Very weird.
There was a man on his knees on the floor, with a snare drum between his knees. And other various 'people' around him battering at things, not all instruments. The future wife and I stared at each other and retreated to discuss...... "Fuckin hell, what the fuck is that" "I know" "Fuckin hell" "I know".
We looked back in. It hadn't gotten any better. There was some weird shit going on with the band and the guests. Some strange dancing indeed. We drove away (see previous post for near potential murder).
A couple of days later the band guy phoned me and asked me if we'd been. Yes, I said slowly. He asked me what I thought. I said slowly and carefully I wasn't sure if it was our thing. He wasn't sure what I meant, I asked for a ceilidh band? Yes. What was the problem? So I mentioned the man on his knees battering the drum and the fact that he had long hair and wasn't wearing a kilt, but more of a leather trousers outfit.
"That wasn't us.......we were in the suite at the back of the hotel". Fuck.
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