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January 16, 2005
How to be sure you're not invited to the wedding
Well. That's another weekend coming to a close! I had originally planned to attend Aid from Ireland's fundraiser for the Aceh tsunami victims (some readings by Irish authors; Roddy Doyle, Pat McCabe, Conor McPherson & Brendan Gleeson were the ones I was looking forward to) but there doesn't appear to be any tickets left. Shag. So instead I'm here, tapping this out before putting a couple of prints up on on my bedroom walls.
It's as well, really. I'm feeling very drained after my weekend, which began on Friday evening with me making dinner for my sweetheart (who's name I'm not going to tell you, as you'd only laugh. Instead, chuckle/groan at me calling her my sweetheart when blogging). She was Not So Good after her dentist encounter. So: comfort food, including her favourite and mine: mountains of well-made mashed potato. You'd know we were Irish.
Saturday was spent mostly Lounging, with some quality Idling. On Saturday evening we went to a friend's house for some gorgeous home-cooked Chinese food (you'd never guess we were Irish) before heading on to an engagement party.
I've never been to an engagement party before, which might explain some of my inexperience here, but for some reason when it was explained to me that Ely's Wine Bar was a wine bar, I didn't think: Hmmm. Slightly more formal dress than usual, then. My friend seemed slightly put out on seeing me in runners. But still, she seemed pleased that I was there, so that wasn't the Bad Thing I Did.
Background detail: My newly-engaged friend is somebody I'm fond of, and somebody I'm sorry I haven't kept in better touch with. I have no real excuse for this, particularly as she lives right across the road from where I used to work (though I've since moved to a building ten minutes walk away). We were very good friends at one stage or another; she's the first girl I ever kissed, in fact, or at least (as one of my workmates put it) she's the first girl I ever kissed properly.
So. No chance of a shag there then (note to sweetheart: just kidding, and when did you start reading this?). But the Bad Thing I Did wasn't saying that line out loud. No, even I realise that, while I might had a cheeky grin at the memory of saying this a few months later, it was far from the proper time, place, or audience.
No. The Bad Thing I Did was bounding up to my friend's fiancé (who'll we'll call Bill) and addressing him as Frank. Who's Frank? Why, Frank would be my friend's previous boyfriend, and now very definitely her ex! Congratulations, Frank, you're engaged!
Calling your friend's fiancé by the name of your friend's ex is, as the French say, Not To Be Done. To his eternal credit, Bill was in sufficiently great form to tolerate my drunken idiocy and point me in the direction of the free bar. I took his advice, then joined my sweetheart and other friends, all out in force to mark the occasion, and all far better dressed for it than I was.
I quickly realised what a maroon I'd been when my friends referred to the fiancé by his actual name. Cue extensive mortification. But when that was done, and everyone had had a sympathetic laugh or ten, we settled in for a great evening. And it was great. It's fantastic to see people I first met as a student in college in such form: polished, confident, considerate and endlessly good fun to be with. I hope some day to join their ranks. Even more than this, it was great to see my engaged friend so clearly over the moon, and Bill beside her in exactly the same state.
Nevertheless, that level of embarrassment takes a while to fade. I spent today trying to hurry this process along, but it's not quite done yet. For penance, this evening I man-handled our (fake) Christmas tree out of it's stand, into it's constituent parts, and into what must have been a box at one time but has now become so battered and worn that it's probably best described as cardboard wrapping. This was lots of fun, it turns out, as work for me usually involves tapping at a keyboard. It was good to do some work that involved genuine work. There was some actual lugging at one stage.
Now, you'll have to excuse me. I've been playing with a hammer for the past few minutes and I mean to continue in the 'genuine work' vein by banging some picture hooks into my bedroom walls.
Posted by Oliver at January 16, 2005 08:20 PM
Comments
I would not feel fantastic about that, me. I’m kind of glad I’m away from home, so people don’t have to see that I am still a mess (and messier, after recent events). So it’s easier to be all “yes, I’m in X beautiful European capital”, where people are all chic so I must be too, but the truth is I never wash my hair and I can barely pay my rent.
Posted by: Bousculer at February 8, 2005 06:20 PM
I think part of the reason for me writing that was the relief of the embarrassment fading. Not to mention the alcohol. But I’ve seen every one of my friends (and they me) in pretty similar situations to the one you describe. And I don’t doubt that some or all of us will return to that state in the future. Which is another part of why it was great to see a bunch of us together in such form…
Nice nick, by the way!
Posted by: Oliver at February 9, 2005 11:39 AM
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