Saturday 23rd May, 7pm, and so to the evening reception. Well, 7ish - inevitably it took time to shepherd together peeps and make our way out from the Scottish Book Trust to the evening venue just up the road & down the road, Marlins Wynd...
It was just a small distance along the Royal Mile between venues, but even so I'd been fretting about us getting attention from strangers, especially given the huge number of visitors in town for the Heineken Rugby Cup Final (more of which later...). Like, duh! Of course we were noticed, but it was all good-natured and I didn't feel anxious about it the way I might on my tod - strength in numbers. As you can see, the mighty Kal* was carrying what remained of the baumkuchen with aplomb, there's Dad with the guest book (made of sheep poo, fact fans) and our mates Katie & Martin, with the rest of our peeps straggled out behind us, Best Man Dan having gone on ahead to get the music going. As we reached the turning onto Blair Street we happened to cross the path of another wedding party - cue what can only be described as (exceedingly good-natured) heckling between the two weddings, Kal leading the charge with "our cake's bigger than your cake" and "you'rrrre not vowing any more"... initially I almost exploded out of embarrassment, then from laughter. It was the kind of moment you could never plan in advance, but set the relaxed, happy tone for the rest of the night perfectly.
* That's his nom de internet, in case anyone reading this who spoke to him is getting confused about his name - it's wise to have a pseudonym when writing a successful blog.
Marlins Wynd is a fascinating place, a private-hire venue under the streets of Edinburgh that goes back centuries. Being so subterranean, complete with atmospherically low lighting and candles, meant there was no natural light coming in and thereby a bit of a bugger for anyone taking pictures. Still, there's a few crackers to show, with particular thanks to Marie-Laure, Martha, Hana and Ian for their pictures - they got some smashing snaps, but in retrospect I wish we'd hung onto Kate Brandwood for the evening as well, since I'd love to have had more pictures of all the people who were there. It's fascinating seeing family and friends from your different social circles together in one room for the first time, it's like watching a crossover episode of all your favourite TV shows together, a pleasantly odd feeling. What really made me happy was seeing these people who'd never met before talking to each other, since god knows I'd be atrocious at introducing people directly, rather than everyone staying in their own private huddles - I think that happened with some of the larger groups, but that's inevitable.
We got there at about 7:20pm and there were already quite a few people there, friends who hadn't been at the afternoon ceremony, and as we arrived into the main room they all started applauding and cheering us. It was an incredible feeling, the kind of thing that chokes you up in recollection, and I wanted to hug the lot of them. As it was, it was bizarrely difficult to actually spend time with people and catch up with them, partly as there were so many people you have to spread yourself around, partly as my brain seemed completely frazzled at this point. Just like the afternoon, the only real regret I have from the day is not spending enough time with our guests and I hope nobody took that as taking them for granted. Honestly, we were hugely grateful for every single person who was there, and thank you cards will be going out once Kate's pictures have arrived and we can get them made.
So, moments from the night. The first couple of hours feeling absolutely drained, privately reconsidering whether having an evening reception was such a good idea, we pretty much crashed out on the sofa in the reception room, utterly zonked, and wondering how the deuce we were going to stay awake for the next few hours, never mind sociable hosts.
What pulled us around? Not the drink - I had a couple of bottles of beer over the whole night, mostly sticking to water - but a mix of company and music. The playlist for the night was of my making and playing through the (surprisingly impressive) music system in the venue via the iBook, and for the first couple of hours it was pretty standard easy-going stuff. Highlights including seeing 2-year-old Callum getting his groove on to Adam Buxton's The Hours...
Sticking with Adam & Joe, having their Pirate Radio Classical interruption lead straight into Hey Ya! was the absolute business, even if Missus & I were the only ones who heard it. Watching Abigail and Hattie dancing away while all the adults milled at the edges early on the evening was class, a classic example of why people who ban children from coming to their wedding are seriously missing out. It was great to hear some of my favourite songs booming out, reliving that 90's indie disco vibe with Carter USM's Rubbish, Inspiral Carpets' Saturn 5, Kenickie's In Your Car and the dreamy Twisterella from Ride. Jah Wobble's Visions Of You sounded particularly good with the deep bass rumbling on the Richter scale through the venue, while there was a lovely sense of "holy shit, is that...?" when Where's Me Jumper? came on.
But the real turning point came while we were out on the sofa again and a run of comparatively rocking songs (Immigrant Song, Paint It Black, 20th Century Boy) gave way to Take On Me, Lay All Your Love On Me and Freak Like Me. We could hear the ladies singing even from where we were sitting, all the more impressive given the volume the music boomed at, and we just had to come through - that's when the photo shown was taken, the smile on my face basically from me thinking: "it's coming together... everything's going to be fine." We were encouraged to join the dancing, and very briefly attempted to do so until my leg shrieked with indignation and I had to retire back to the sofa briefly with a tube of Biofreeze. But soon enough we were back downstairs as the singing and dancing continued, tasty nosh was served up by the staff and the night swum by like a dream...
It was Lucien that got me to start dancing proper, just like all those years ago in Bournemouth, while the Missus wisely kept to a safe distance. I quickly realised that as long as I didn't move my legs at all, I wouldn't feel any pain from dancing, resulting in hours of successful grooving from the waist-up. Couldn't swear on it, but I'm pretty sure it was the B-52's Rock Lobster that I started dancing/flailing-wildly (depending on your point of view) to, followed joyfully by Junior Senior's Move Your Feet - hope you all joined in on that one - and then the sublime funk genius of Curtis Mayfield's Move On Up (the extended album version, mind) that really kicked things off, metaphorically speaking, as the dancing spread from Lucien to my other college friends to our sisters and relatives. Honestly, how can you not move to that song? I was happy up until that point, but from thereon I was almost giddily blissful.
Around then, Kal said he was leaving, which was a shame as he was such excellent company and everybody loved him, but I understood and gave him a goodbye hug. Then he came back, having decided it was more fun to stay, which made us very happy indeed.
Wonderful memories from the rest of the night attached to particular songs. Fatboy Slim's Praise You inspiring Marie-Laure to try and recreate the famous video that had soundtracked our time in Dublin a decade ago.
At the end of the song, a pre-arranged conspiracy amongst sisters to get some Girls Aloud into the night came to light as they started singing a Girls Aloud track, then graciously admitting defeat as the next track kicked in with that DUH DUH-DUH, DUH DUH-DUH - Come On Eileen, thangyewverymuch.
The Missus getting into the groove, leading to us unexpectedly having our First Dance to Tom Jones' staggering rendition of Kiss, complete with a quick snog in the chorus. I can't hear the song now without laughing like a drain - it was completely unplanned (neither of us likes to dance, so we'd assumed we wouldn't even have a dance together) but an absolutely perfect moment.
The sisters were awesome, belting out the singalong songs, and I was so happy to dance with my sister to Born To Run, which reportedly also saw some supreme grooving from Al & Carrie. I regretted not having more well-known disco songs towards midnight, with MARRS' Pump Up The Volume and The KLF's What Time Is Love possibly too abrasive for that time, but sod it - they sounded ace.
Throughout the afternoon and evening our guests wrote in the aforementioned sheep poo guest book - we finally read it the next day and nearly blubbed, such was the absolute loveliness it contained. The thought and care that went into some of the entries still blows my mind and we really should stick some of them up online to share their excellence. There's poetry, artwork, foreign languages and page after page of such kindness towards The Missus & I that we must be doing something right to have such wonderful people in our lives.
Inevitably, numbers dwindled as the hours went by, and although I'd playlisted the soundtrack to end at 1am we wrapped things up at 12:30am, ending the night with a hardcore remainder bellowing along melodiously to Abba's Thank You For The Music, much to the amusement of the remaining staff. As we said goodbye to those who stayed to the end, one of the staff said they'd enjoyed the music that evening - much more varied and interesting than what normally gets played at wedding receptions, apparently - and asked who picked the music. How good do you think I felt?
Now, here's where things take a turn for the shit. We hadn't booked a taxi home in advance - we certainly didn't book a wedding car for the day, one of the boons of having it in the city we live in meant there was no need for wedding cars or staying in hotels - figuring we could just book one through the Citycabs automated phone system when we needed it. However, this way of thinking didn't take into consideration that a) it was Saturday, around chucking out time, and therefore a busy time for taxis normally and b) it was the Heineken Rugby Cup Final that weekend, with 10,000s of visitors in the city, described as "busier than Hogmanay". We called the automated line and got put into a queue but with no indication when or even if a car would turn up, so I tried calling human-answered numbers but kept being told there were no cars available in the city centre. By now it was past 1am and with no idea if a car was coming for us I went out to the nearest taxi rank while the Missus waited at the Wynd. Standing in that taxi rank queue, stretching right down the Royal Mile with so many people that even if a taxi had arrived every minute it would've taken half an hour to get a car, and taxis were arriving every five minutes is that, I was feeling profoundly miserable and increasingly anxious - what the hell were we going to do? Any other day, we'd get a nightbus or even walk back... but with the Missus still in her wedding dress? Absolutely goddamn not. The attention we'd be getting at that time of day might still be good-hearted, but it'd be beered-up, lairy, coarse, pissed - I would do whatever I could to ensure she didn't have to walk more than a few steps out in Edinburgh city centre that night. Problem was, what could I do? After twenty minutes, during which two different ambulances turned up to cart people out of pubs, I gave up and headed back to the Wynd - after all, Missus didn't have her mobile with her and I was getting worried the staff there would want to turf us out so they could go home, and then what would we do? Fucked if I knew...
Thankfully, the remaining staff were just as reliant on a taxi to get home as we were, so they were perfectly fine with us being there waiting for a car to become available. Just as I was walking back to the Wynd I could hear some people queuing to get into Cabaret Voltaire - there were more people waiting outside than you could even fit inside the place - looking down into the Wynd, seeing the Missus and saying "there's a bride... ah, she's on her own, something's gone wroooong" and I wanted to punch their faces off and bellow "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! WE'D BE HOME BY NOW IF THE STREETS WEREN'T FILLED WITH PISSED TWATS LIKE YOU WHO NEED A TAXI TO CROSS THE STREET, YOU FUCK! HOW DARE YOU?!" However, I didn't, weaving back into the venue to give her a hug and wait. The staff at Marlins Wynd, bless them, were hugely understanding and accommodating, but my mind still raced trying to find another way out and failing. Theoretically I could have called any of the guests who had come and had cars with them... but it was 1:30am by then and we would have felt like absolute shits for doing so. Walking - no way. Bus - no way. Even calling Mum who was staying in the city centre and asking to stay at hers would've meant walking through a vomit strewn Royal Mile with pissed-up berks with pint-shaped hats hooting in our direction - I wouldn't have that happen to my wife.
And then, at about 1:45am, the door to the venue opened up and to the sound of heavenly choirs a leather-jacketed angel walked in and asked if we'd ordered a cab. Note - I may have imagined the choir of angels, such was the immense, intense relief that washed over the Missus & me, I swear we both damn near fainted. The staff at the Wynd, bless them, let us take the taxi, so we piled out of the venue with baumkuchen, presents, laptop and all, receiving plenty of stares and a few whistles from the Cabaret Voltaire crowd, straight into the cab. Honestly, I have never ever ever been so relieved to see a taxi driver, we were both so grateful that we'd have happily paid crazy amounts for that ride, rather than the tenner it cost (including a generous tip, naturally). That extreme relief, the release of tension as we sat in the cab and it tried to weave its way through a Grassmarket stuffed with more drunk pint hatters, bizarrely made the perfect end to a day that I'd initially been so anxious about, yet where everything ultimately worked out perfect.
You'd perhaps expect that hour of waiting and worry to be a shadow over the day, but it really isn't - sure, it would've been better if we'd booked a taxi well in advance and had none of that, but by 2am we were home and very, very happy. A rollercoaster ride of a day and night, to be savoured for the rest of our lives. And a hell of a good start to married life!
Photographs by Marie-Laure Guisset and Ian Ingoldsby. Good work!
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