Navy Boy's Wedding

I have to say, the name "sleeper train" is a real mis-nomer.  Although my bunk was soft enough (if not particularly wide), and the pillows were fluffy and the blankets were warm, I found that my imaginings of the train gently rumbling through the night and rocking me to sleep were pure fantasy.  Every time I imagined that I might be tired enough to fall asleep, the train would suddenly pick up speed and slam me into the back of my berth, or slow down or even stop at a station, rolling me the other way, as though I might tip out of my bunk.  I'd seen a few members of the House of Commons boarding the train last night (as I'd heard they sometimes do when travelling back to their home districts), but I have no idea how anybody could arrive well-rested after this journey!

Taking photos

I asked my bunk-mate how we would know when the train had arrived in Scotland, and she responded, totally deadpan, "It will stop moving."  Hence, about 20 minutes after a sharp rap on the cabin door alerted me to my orange juice, the train did indeed rumble to a stop, and we had arrived in Edinburgh.  They don't kick you off the train right away, but it remains on the platform for a good half-hour.  Yet, at this point I was eager to just get off and get going, so I bit my bunk mate farewell, gathered my things, and departed the train.

I relatively easily found where I could catch the bus to the Edinburgh Airport, bought a round-trip ticket (as I knew I'd be coming back this way the next day), and enjoyed the free wifi on the shuttle for the half-hour journey.

Once I arrived at the airport, I realised I still had almost an hour before I was due to meet the shuttle, and given that my phone was on its last legs after spending all night on the train, I found a chair near an outlet and sat down to recharge it.  (I swear, airports are all about finding seats near electrical outlets these days!)  I spent some time texting back and forth with the Tall South African, and then when the time was right, went and found my shuttle ride.

I introduced myself to a few of the relatives, and readily struck up a conversation with a young couple who had also recently married, and the guy was doing graduate work in maths at Oxford, at Univ.  They told a funny story about how when trying to keep numbers down for the wedding, they'd insisted that the only "plus ones" who could attend had to be married or at least engaged.  At which point, Navy Boy turned around and proposed to his now fiancee, to which they said, "Quite an extreme way to get an invite to a wedding, but at that point, we had to abide by our own rules and extend her an invite!"

The entire wedding party

As you see, this wedding had come as a surprise to just about everyone.  The bride and groom had known each other for years, but had long insisted that they were "just friends".  Indeed, the groom had gone out with friends of mine, and I'd worked on setting up the bride with guys I know.  Although they were often seen places together, there was no implication that they were anything other than two people who enjoyed spending a lot of time together.

Hence, when out of the blue I received a text from the groom in October that he'd proposed to her, she'd said yes, and now they wanted to know if I was coming to their engagement drinks...well, it seemed totally out of left-field.  Yet, I supposed that I was the only one who didn't know what the hell happened, but now at the wedding it turned out...nobody had a clue!  One of the mysteries of the weekend that was never quite answered, but I suppose at the end of the day, the story of their romance is all their own.

Once I got on the shuttle, it turned out that a minibus making it's way through winding, muddy Scottish back roads in the pouring rain was MUCH more soothing than a rolling, jerking, rocking train, and I fell asleep almost immediately.  Next thing I knew, we'd arrived at the hotel, we all checked in, and I went up to my room to do my hair and change.

I had about an hour, before it was time to head back downstairs to go to the wedding itself.  A mini bus took everyone there, and I noted with some dismay that I was one of the only women not wearing a hat, or at least a fascinator.  I shall really have to get myself one of those at some point, at least for long-distance weddings like this one.

At the church, as we waited for the bride to arrive (listening to a bagpiper playing the entire time), I found myself chatting quite a bit with the lovely couple I'd been talking to at the airport.  It passed the time, and then finally, after about 30 minutes, the ceremony was due to start.

The bride, when she walked down the aisle, was absolutely in tears.  Which I suppose could have happened because she was so overwhelmed by the emotion of the day, but wow.  It reminded me never, ever to cry at my own wedding, as the poor girl looked like she was heading to some sort of execution.  I mean, she looked like she was absolutely sobbing.  Had this all come on too fast?  Was she really happy to be getting married?  Oh dear, it just made me worry a bit...

The ceremony was mercifully brief, although a bit strange too, as it turned out the minister was a last-minute replacement.  He made a few jokes, like about how "Incompatibility is the spice of life, if he has the income and she is palatable."  A few others about money, which is how we reassured ourselves that this was definitely a Scottish wedding.

After the ceremony, we dashed back through the pouring rain to the bus (the absolute downpour had not let up, we would surely be building an ark soon!), and then made it back to the hotel.  I found myself chatting to the other couple, and to a cousin of the bride whom I had met at the engagement drinks.  I'd liked this girl very much at the time, and did so again here.  She worked as a physio for a professional rugby team, and was just absolutely beautiful and charming, one of those girls who you can't fathom why they are single.  Although perhaps people think much the same about me.  Whatever the reason, I suppose we much be much the same, as I found myself taking to her instantly.

I was desperate for a chance to change however before the reception, and so was grateful with 10 minutes to spare, the cousin suggested that we all retire for a bit before dinner.  Quickly changed into another dress and ditched the stockings that were killing me and starting to ladder already.  And took a moment to rest, just for a moment, as last night's lack of sleep was really starting to catch up with me!

We came back downstairs for dinner, where the food was good, but I found myself incredibly bored to be on a table with the flower girls, seated in-between the groom's crazy eccentric aunt and the bride's slightly racist South African brother-in-law.  It was somewhat interesting talking to him about life in Johannesburg and how the family lived down there, as the bride's entire family was still from South Africa.  I wonder what they thought about her going off to live in England and join the English Navy?

Post-dinner, at around 8:30 pm, the dancing started, and after the first dance I slipped upstairs to my room to drop off my handbag, and then sat down on my bed for what was supposed to be just a second.  I was just. So.  Damn.  Exhausted.

The next thing I knew, I glanced at my watch and it was 10 PM.  I had somehow fallen asleep, fully dressed, in my hotel room.  I seriously debated just staying up there and calling it a night, but I knew I couldn't sneak away from the wedding like that.  So as tired as I was, I forced myself up again, and made my way downstairs, nearly staggering with exhaustion.  I normally get a second wind from being around people and out at parties, but here I was dying.

At least when I arrived downstairs, they had just put out bacon sandwiches for everyone, so I ate one in the hopes that some food might wake me up a bit.  It turned out that I'd missed the ceilidh, which had been one thing I was tremendously looking forward to, but from what people were saying, it had only been one or two dances anyway.

I stayed by the fireplace, chatting a while with the cousin and her parents for a while, before we got dragged into the bar.  The bride and groom had apparently gone off to bed, but the Best Man was determined to play his part, and ensure that the party continued.  So before long I had a G&T in my hands, and we were all enjoying the ribald humour of the navy boys.

Then for some reason the Best Man decided that we all needed to do shots (that is NEVER a good idea in my experience!), and so with some sort of silly apple vodka in a shot glass, I joined in a toast to the lassies (as all Scottish men are wont to do), and then we had a toast to "a bloody war and a sickly season", as apparently that's Thursday's toast in the Navy.  I looked it up later on Wikipedia, and found that it was indeed true.

While most of these toasts are self-explanatory, "a bloody war or a sickly season" refers to the desire and likelihood of being promoted when many people die: during war or sickness.

When the band started packing up, but left some music on playing, the Best Man decided to lead the ten or so of us in a crazy circle, dancing to "Sweet Caroline".  It's was hilarious, as he actually had us counting out steps as though it were yet another ceilidh dance, and I have to admit it actually worked quite well!  We were having so much fun that we did a few more, until the band quite insistently put on "Auld Lang Syne", as in Scotland it's the way you end every party, not just New Year's Eve.  Finally, although the Best Man seemed quite determined to hold the bar up until 3 AM, I just couldn't stay upright any longer, I was so exhausted.  So finally off to bed at 1 AM!