On Thursday last me and wor lass rode our bikes into town and went into a soul-less beige room in Manchester town hall, where and overly chatty lady told us all about the registry office and what we’d arranged to do in it. A ponytail man who looked a bit sinister entered and told us that anything coming out of our mouths in the next ten minutes was legally binding. He then told us a ‘humorous’ story about another man who had second thoughts, ran away and was hunted down market street with the paperwork by ninja trained civil servants. From the look in his eyes it didn’t matter if we were getting happily married, or unhappily married, he had a job to do and was damned if our emotional state was going to have any bearing on it at all. Good job we’re happy.
Sunday was the proper wedding. I prepared as much as I could, but it was still mental looking at about 80% of all the people I know and have kept in touch with, all in the same place at the same time. The new suit arrived, the vows were written and the whole day was just one big rollercoaster, even the multitudinous photo’s don’t do it justice.
So I wear a ring now. It feels a bit odd. I take it off when I’m Danny Pensive, he doesn’t mind. Betty wouldn’t have it.