A generation in the making, all the way back to the autumn of 1993 when the bride's parents and groom's parents got married. This was the era of M People, Back to Basics and Challenge Anneka, of QVC, the Maastricht Treaty and Take That and Lulu. These two weddings took place just two weeks apart, amazingly, but also 200 miles apart so there was no reason to imagine they'd ever be inextricably linked. I only gave a speech at one of them. Two loving marriages ensued, a solid foundation for the families that followed and inexorably grew, their children learning by example and setting off on paths that would ultimately coincide.
A decade in the making, all the way back to the winter of 2015 when the bride and groom first met. Their academic studies had taken them to the same corner of the country but not to the same city, in one case a last minute decision when expected results fell through. Had studies gone to plan they would never have met, had technology not progressed they would never have met, had so many other incredibly unlikely things not happened they would never have met, but meet they did one fateful day and that first meeting turned into many more.
Eight years in the making, all the way back to the first holiday they took together. Seven years in the making, all the way back to the time they both moved to the same city for work, not that they wouldn't have moved eventually but the other one's presence undoubtedly speeded things up. Six years in the making, all the way back to the day they moved in together because these days that tends to come well before the wedding. In my parents' day moving in together coincided with the wedding, cohabitation being frowned upon, but better to have considerable evidence you're going to get on before you tie yourselves together.
Two years in the making, because that's how long ago the engagement took place. Not only were there rings but also bended knees and, as we subsequently discovered, a bespoke photoshoot on a deserted beach which essentially gave the wedding photographer a test run. The starting pistol duly fired, the key decision became where to host the wedding, the bride's geographical preferences plainly winning out which is why I've just spent the week in not-Norfolk. I remember the family discovering the proposed location for the first time and excitedly watching a video of the venue on YouTube, which looked lovely but only now do I fully understand how lovely it was.
Over a year in the making, because a wedding is a multi-dimensional logistical operation to be pre-planned to within an inch of its life. The selection of key personnel, the meetings with the vicar, the after hours calls from the wedding planner, the precise Pinot and Sauvignon Blanc, the his'n'hers rings, the choice of hymns, the list of names for the calligrapher, the right shade of Dusky Rose for the gents' pocket squares, the seating plan keeping her away from them, the most convenient coach company, the songs the band really shouldn't play, the colouring book for the flower girl, the shoes, the suit, the dress. There was of course a spreadsheet. Things only run like clockwork if you underlay the seeming ease of the wedding day with a full scale military operation.
A week in the making, because the family decided to precede the event with a week's holiday in the local area. The bride and groom came too so they were collecting deliveries while we were at the lighthouse, they were supervising the florist while we were at the beach and they were laying out the champagne glasses while we were working out how to turn off the hot tub. Lingering locally helps the two families to get to know each other better, and avoids that awful rush where you turn up for a wedding in a globally renowned location but fail to see any of it because you're in and out of the B&B like the proverbial blue-arsed fly. My wedding suit hung in the wardrobe for a week to shake out all the creases.
A morning in the making, because the effort that goes into wedding day preparations is insane. A dawn dash to get the make-up done, a synchronised timetable for elegant hairdressing, urgently Googling "how to attach a pocket watch", all the sartorial prep, and all while the photographer snaps incessantly to capture the pristine results. Someone needs to say "you have got the rings haven't you?", someone has to ask "where's the something blue?" and somewhere unseen the rookie vicar is hoping all goes well. In most wedding day dramas the tension comes from either the bride or the groom being unexpectedly late whereas in this case the congregation arrived after the designated time which certainly delivered added tension.
Three quarters of an hour in the making, this being the duration of the actual wedding service. Not a dry eye as the bridesmaids step forward, followed by the bride. Broad smiles as everyone finally sees how amazing the secret dress looks. The late arrivals who probably aren't sitting in the right seat. The hymn that everyone knows and the hymn everyone thinks they know but doesn't. The brief pause lest anyone here present should know just impediment. A surfeit of prayers. The moment you discover what the participants' middle names are. The exchange of unfumbled rings. The vicar's attempt to inject some theology into the day. The bit with the signatures where the organist gets to earn his money. Applause.
An afternoon in the making, not just the ceremony but the celebration afterwards which firmly embeds the day into collective memory. A glass of fizz on entry, an interminable wait while the photographer forces every possible combination of participants to stand together in the garden, and the slow realisation of quite what a wider family you've just married into. Did you order the chicken rather than the vegan option? Has the father of the bride shoehorned the local disused railway into his speech? Will the best man perfect the balancing act of embarrassing the groom with just enough salacious details without embarrassing the bride or, more importantly, her grandparents? It was a yes to all three of those, you'll be pleased to hear.
A full day in the making, stretching late into the evening with a crescendo of a party. The first dance isn't what you thought it'd be, nor has it gone unpractised. The sliced cake turns out to be either raspberry or full-on chocolate. The videographer sends his drone up while we all wave our sparklers. Old school friends bounce as if they were adolescent teens again, i.e. gauche and excitable. Black and white Polaroid photos are stuck into an increasingly jolly guest book. The bar is free until we hit a prearranged tab, which perhaps predictably we never do. Abba are a surefire draw when the band switches to Spotify, whereas Evacuate The Dancefloor has precisely that effect. And suddenly the cleaners are at the back of the room, the taxis are on their way and the new-found extended family dissipates.
A lifetime in the making, that's always the intention, the weeks and years ahead the testing ground for a prosperous and happily coupled future. No matter how much you plan for the day and live it to the full, creating perfect memories of a day that brings everyone together, it's really all about what comes next.
A wedding is all in the preparation but a marriage is all in the outcome.
