Along with many others Heide and I got dressed up and trooped along to Coventry (which in itself is funny, but I guess you probably have to know of Coventry to understand the humour of dressing up to go there) to witness Jackie, an other wise sane seeming lass, get hitched to Paul. Perhaps it was something like Jack Nicholson in "One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest" where an insane asylum, in this case marriage to my bro, seemed, at the time, like a good idea compared with an alternative. Which, whatever it might have been, must have been bad. Very, very bad.

The wedding itself was a smooth affair (am I allowed to use that phrase so soon after the nuptials?) Which went exactly to script, well for the most part anyway. The coach (a large bus) that had been hired to transport us down to the Church from the hotel arrived on time, alas those of us traveling on it did not. Still, we made it in time for the processions (and as a bonus I managed to leave the ushering job to my other brother, Chris, as he was there much earlier than I was) which is more than can be said for one of the guests, a mate of Paul’s from the age of 4 (they’re now both about 47), who when texted a message asking, and I’ll just give you the short and sweet (i.e. clean) version "where are you?" as the happy couple were exiting the Church replied "I’m just buying a map of Coventry, I’ll be there in 15 minutes" Now, as you’ll be well aware I’m not cynical at all, well not always cynical, but here I fancy was Paul angling for road map of his new city as he’d forgotten to add it to the wedding registry. Of course, it could also be just typical of Paul and his mates. Or both I suppose. Now, as usual, I have a complaint, obviously a perfectly valid one, but a complaint nonetheless. What were those bridesmaids dresses? They were, well they were, actually perfectly respectable and nice. And therein lies the problem. Aren’t they supposed, by tradition, to be awful? (Except obviously the ones we had at our wedding!) So that in years to come the girlies involved cringe, but here I suspect they all actually liked the outfit enough to wear again at some future "posh do". Not right I tell ya! Even when positioned close to the quite stunning looking, inactive Usher and his wife, Jackie and Paul made a pretty good looking couple. It was great but of course the best part of the day, the reception, was yet to come. So it was all aboard the coach and back to the hotel.

The Forest of Arden Hotel, which luckily isn’t exactly in Coventry, was a delight. The food and service could have been a highlight of the day, but compared with what followed even this wonderful part of the day was eclipsed. Firstly the speeches, and much kudos to all who participated, went well, and then of course there was the first dance. So completely (and rightly) feared by all Grooms it was with utter glee that we watched Paul squirm. A big well done to Jackie for keeping him up there for the duration, a big hand for the DJ for ensuring he went for the slow, long track, version of the song, and an extra big hand to Best Man, Stevie Pearce, for ensuring that no one got up to bail Paul out by dancing at the same time. Ha, ha, ha! Then there was a troop of amazing Irish dancers who did a turn, what an incredible display, both of dancing and fitness. Then there was Paul’s infamous party piece, the "singing" of Yellow Submarine. I must say the show has evolved somewhat in the last 16 odd years. Alas the voice hasn’t. Then in an act of grotesque barbarity the four Cassidy kids (now known for crimes against music as the "Arden Quartet") warbled, butchered and generally killed, just as surely as Proud Edward’s Army were slain, the anthem, "Flower Of Scotland".

The night, as seems the way with these things, simply flew by. Before we knew it the wee, small hours had arrived and drinks were being charged to any room the "purchaser" fancied. I am under the impression that one Mr Eamon Daly bought: sixteen double vodka and tonics, nine Rum and Cokes, three pints of lager, a bottle of champagne, seven pints of Guinness, one bitter lemon (for the designated driver, all very sensible) two ciders and a packet of dry roasted peanuts. And all between the hours of 2:45 am and 3:37 am. Good man, Mr Daly!

It really was a great day and was wonderful to get the chance to see so many family (both mine, Jackie’s and Heide’s folk too) friends (old school mates and the rugby boys) and new acquaintances, especially those who usually referred to Paul as "The Accused" and Jackie’s friends too.

The next day dawned with sore heads all round (Especially from the happy couple I’m delighted to relay) and as Paul and Jackie readied themselves for their honeymoon (anyone got any idea why the holiday immediately after a wedding is so called?) in the Seychelles there was a pleasant social gathering at my mum and dad’s place to send them on their way and to drink to a great weekend (Except the part where my Nana was robbed on Friday night. If the kitchen hand in the pub can actually read (and I doubt it to be honest) we know (although alas we can’t prove it) you did it, you low life scum!!) and to toast the freshly bound pair for a lifetime of happiness. Cheers, and good luck to you both!