THE news that Coleen McLoughlin has supposedly banned Wayne Rooney's cousin from the Wedding of the Century (©OK! magazine) comes as no surprise to me. I tried to ban loads of relatives from my own nuptials – and not just because they might look dodgy in the photographs.
Photographs were the least of my worries. A whole new horror was about to be unleashed on the wedding-going public – the video camera. Before that invention blighted our lives, your biggest wedding worry was keeping the smile fixed for the official photographer. Now, you were going to have to smile for the whole day. That's bad enough when you're a guest: when it's your own wedding, you're likely to end up with lockjaw.
A family friend had just got a new video camera and offered to make a wedding video for us. We couldn't really say no and, anyway, we thought it might be nice to have something to look back on. You know, pinpoint where it all went wrong kinda thing. It has proved to be by far the most side-splitting film we have at home. It's even specially requested by friends when they come over. Nervous brides-to-be have watched it and – through the tears of laughter – have been calmed by the knowledge that at least their wedding can't possibly be as bad as that. The fact that there is no soundtrack – other than some great Pathe News-type music - only adds to the hilarity.
From the fights over seats and arguments over hymnbooks to the appallingly bad shuffling masquerading as dancing at the reception, our budding cinematographer managed to catch the two families in all their glory. One friend thought it was sweet that my family were running down the far aisle to try to beat the bride and groom out of the church. She thought it was because they were keen to get photographs of us emerging as newly-weds. She wasn't to know that they were putting a sprint on because they were all desperate for a fag. I don't think there was a camera among them.
Mother has always liked the video as it captured the happiest moment of her day perfectly. It's not the part where her only daughter walks down the aisle. It's not even the part when her favourite son reads the lesson (although, obviously, you don't hear that). It's the part where she is chatting to the catering manager at the reception. The woman is at least a size 22 and Mother looks miniscule in comparison.
The one good thing about the video is that filming stopped before things got completely out of hand. So, luckily, there is no documentary evidence of the underage guest who managed to sneak drinks all night and passed out in the middle of the dancefloor. Nor of Mother phoning for a taxi and imperiously demanding that two cars be sent at once. Of course, if she had remembered to put her glasses on, she would have seen that T for taxi comes right next to T for Torphichen Street police station in her phone book. So, thankfully, there isn't any footage of the police arriving and requesting that Mr Turner and I leave. They thought that if the bridal couple were to call it a night, then the drunken rabble posing as our families might be tempted to go home too. Hadn't any of them been to a wedding before?
A family friend had just got a new video camera and offered to make a wedding video for us. We couldn't really say no and, anyway, we thought it might be nice to have something to look back on. You know, pinpoint where it all went wrong kinda thing. It has proved to be by far the most side-splitting film we have at home. It's even specially requested by friends when they come over. Nervous brides-to-be have watched it and – through the tears of laughter – have been calmed by the knowledge that at least their wedding can't possibly be as bad as that. The fact that there is no soundtrack – other than some great Pathe News-type music - only adds to the hilarity.
From the fights over seats and arguments over hymnbooks to the appallingly bad shuffling masquerading as dancing at the reception, our budding cinematographer managed to catch the two families in all their glory. One friend thought it was sweet that my family were running down the far aisle to try to beat the bride and groom out of the church. She thought it was because they were keen to get photographs of us emerging as newly-weds. She wasn't to know that they were putting a sprint on because they were all desperate for a fag. I don't think there was a camera among them.
Mother has always liked the video as it captured the happiest moment of her day perfectly. It's not the part where her only daughter walks down the aisle. It's not even the part when her favourite son reads the lesson (although, obviously, you don't hear that). It's the part where she is chatting to the catering manager at the reception. The woman is at least a size 22 and Mother looks miniscule in comparison.
The one good thing about the video is that filming stopped before things got completely out of hand. So, luckily, there is no documentary evidence of the underage guest who managed to sneak drinks all night and passed out in the middle of the dancefloor. Nor of Mother phoning for a taxi and imperiously demanding that two cars be sent at once. Of course, if she had remembered to put her glasses on, she would have seen that T for taxi comes right next to T for Torphichen Street police station in her phone book. So, thankfully, there isn't any footage of the police arriving and requesting that Mr Turner and I leave. They thought that if the bridal couple were to call it a night, then the drunken rabble posing as our families might be tempted to go home too. Hadn't any of them been to a wedding before?
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