...I've been up to over my weekend for a while.

I'd been invited to a wedding back at The Edge Of The World. I bumped into the bride-to-be on a night out a few weeks ago, and she asked me along to the reception. I thought this was just something you say whilst drunk - a bit of an afterthought - so I hadn't treated the invitation that seriously. However, it turned out she meant it. Now, she is a long-term friend of Nooma and Smiley Surf-Shop Gal - and Nooma did her best to try and talk me into going. I hadn't planned on it, as I have to save up money for this coming weekend (I'm going to see Public Enemy in The Ants' Nest, and then I've got a stag do to attend). Nooma pulled out all the stops in persuading me to go. A few factors caused me to buckle. One is that Smiley Surf-Shop Gal is getting married this coming weekend, and I cannot go - so I thought I ought put in an appearance at one wedding, at least. Also, my brother noted that it would be a good opportunity to get a "bunk up" with one of the guests. Plus, looking back on a missed opportunity to have ultramegaturbofun because I'd stayed at home 'saving money' is a decision I would no doubt later regret. So I made the right choice, and upped sticks.

On Friday night, I was dropped off at Surf-Film-Maker Chap's house, where he made me dinner. It was homemade burger on toast with beans...

Surf-Film-Maker Chap: I'm giving you the piece of toast without the mould on.
Lemonsquash: That's what's going to get you that fifth star!

...Then we went to the pub. My heart sank when I realised that the group we were about to join included Nooma's ex. Now, it's been pretty well documented that I can't stand Nooma's ex. What I have touched on less is that he really, really hates me. I learnt from Nooma recently that whilst they were going out, he attempted to forbid her from seeing me – even as a friend. We’ll come back to this. Anyway, it was pretty clear that both of us were doing our best to be civil to one another – but the ice was thin at best. Fortunately, we each managed to keep up the façade, transparent though it was. If things had degenerated, I imagine there would have been a short burst of abuse before I spat beer in his face. But they didn’t.

It was close. One of his initial remarks was that I was sporting more hair nowadays. He has gone bald, and as such had laid himself wide open. I think it was pretty obvious that I’d stumbled in my response, but had deliberately let him off. The conversation was awkward, but thankfully (also) thin on the ground, as Surf-Film-Maker Chap claimed him to talk to, and I instead nattered with an old housemate from The House Of Rock.

Interlude…

Someone: What’s that you're drinking?
Northerner: I call it 'Sacrilege'.
Someone else: What's in it?
Northerner: Red wine and Red Bull.
Everyone: SACRILEGE!

…So I wasn’t having the time of my life. Given the extreme awkwardness, I began to wonder why I’d bothered coming back. But it passed. I was staying with my old housemate, and he told me he had nothing to drink back at his flat, so I stacked them up when last orders came. On returning to his flat, it transpired that what he meant by ‘having nothing to drink’ in fact meant that he had a demijohn containing enough sloe gin to kill a kraken. Consequently, I would spend much of…

Saturday

…feeling like a buffalo had sex with my head.

As I’d been driven to The Edge Of The World by a good chum, I was reliant on transport for the whole weekend. I attempted to hitch-hike from one village to another, but only got so far before I had to walk for several miles up and down hills along a coast road in the rain. I finally got to Blond Curly Physio’s house. She packed up her newborn ginger bundle (Ella), and we went to a pub for lunch. She has taken well to motherhood, I think, despite being weirded out by children. Well, who wouldn’t be? Anyway, we went back to her house after a couple of pints, and baby*, Curly, Curly's dog and I all fell asleep listening to Def Leppard.

TBC…

 *Baby partook of no pints.

...continue?

I shall!

Saturday evening

I threw on a shirt and suit, and hopped into a mini-bus heading for the wedding reception. After a brief diversion into a pub along the way, we made it to the hotel. We were greeted among others by the bride's sister - also a rather toothsome bridesmaid - who told me that I looked "gorgeous". This does not happen often, so it was a pretty good start to the evening's jollities.

We moved into the bar area, where it transpired that Impish Northern Bar Manager now works. So we got to have a good old natter and catch up. She now goes out with a chap who makes specialised remote-controlled planes for the army to shoot down in target practice. Whoever knew such a profession existed?

When I finally made my way into the main room, I joined a table where Smiley Surf-Shop Gal (actually now a teacher) was wrestling with a really geeky looking bloke who claimed to be a cage fighter. My Good Chum wot I had a lift up with was also sat at the table, and she warned me that the moment I saw Nooma in her bridesmaid's get-up, I was likely to fall in love all over again. I then made my way into a separate lounge area where a bunch of folk were playing Scrabble. Nooma interrupted her game to give me a huge hug (it's true - she was looking dazzling), and then insisted that I go and speak to the groom and look at his teeth. The groom is a slightly vain fellow (he straightens his hair!), and he'd spent a couple of thousand pounds on getting the brightest veneers you ever did see. I am proud of myself for congratulating him without being reduced to tears. By all account, he smiled so wide on the bride's entrance to the ceremony that the entire congregation recoiled, shielding their eyes with their forearms.

The reception was pretty much everything you could have wished for. The DJ played some brilliantly awful music ('Africa', 'Don't You Forget About Me', 'Livin' On A Prayer' etc) that he didn't even bother to mix, with the tracks often jarring from one to another mid-verse. This led to some dissatisfied grumbling when 'Sweet Child O'Mine' was rudely halted before the solo, just after the boys had all plugged in their air guitars. There was the bridesmaid looking for love in all the wrong places, as she made advances towards a waiter who turned out to be gay. There were the curmudgeons at the back, who refused to join in the "disco"... Admittedly I was one of those for a good deal of the evening. And then there was the exquisite bride herself, who somehow deftly consumed messy vol-au-vents which should have by rights disgorged all over her dress.

Sometime in the latter half of the evening, Nooma and I sat down for a heart-to-heart. Since she ditched her poseur ex, some barriers between us have crumbled, and we can both be considerably more frank with one another. Now, in recent history, he has been attempting to guilt Nooma into going back out with him. I'm led to believe that he's been dragging her over the coals a bit, and she had a pretty miserable New Year period on account of this. However, recently a certain femme told me that he was seeing another girl during this period, and had now hooked up with another (said femme, in fact). So whilst seeing other people, he'd had the temerity to use words such as "I can't imagine myself with anyone else" as weapons with Nooma. So I decided to relay this information. On previous occasions I had learnt of Poseur Ex's indiscretions, and had wanted to warn Nooma - but I could never do so. This is partly because Poseur Ex could have easily rebuffed anything that would have come from me by claiming that I was being duplicitous and trying to get into Nooma's pants. But it is mostly because it is not my place to meddle with other people's relationships, regardless of any vested interest I might have. Ironically, despite Poseur Ex hating my guts and no doubt thinking that I was sneakily trying to get with his womma, I was probably a far better friend to him than he realises. I suspect I have helped to extend his relationship's shelf-life, through being bound by a sense that passing on any information simply wasn't cricket. I also figured that Nooma is big and ugly enough to make her own mistakes, and would probably get The Realisation at some point. Which, thankfully, she did. Eventually.

But now it's no longer a matter of meddling in people's affairs. More a matter of alerting a friend as to someone's bullshit. Poseur Ex has now treated two of my friends badly in relationships (those with exceptional memories may recall that he used to go out with Blonde Curly Physio before Nooma), and not really appreciated them while he was with them. They are both bright, hilarious and the best company you could wish for. My theory is - however - that they fulfilled the criteria of being blonde, attractive surf-chicks. Accessories, if you like. Poseur Ex is all about making Poseur Ex look good, after all.

And what kind of a slug tries to guilt an ex into going back out with him? Sheesh!

As luck would have it, Nooma has been staunch. I guess the fact she's started seeing other (much nicer) chap has probably aided that. But at least what I've told her has helped to assuage her guilt. As for other indiscretions I kept under my hat, Nooma told me that she wished she'd known earlier, but understood why I felt I couldn't say. She went on to say that it's nice how Poseur Ex attempted to forbid her from seeing me while they were going out - but now she doesn't even speak to him anymore, yet we continue to be best friends. I agreed that this was the best possible outcome.

A little while later, Nooma told me that she loved me. Although she didn't mean it in *that* sense, I felt like I had been klunked with the Mallet of Joy. I don't recall her ever having said this before. To be loved by somebody so awesome even as a friend is a wonderful achievement, and I felt immeasurably proud. I was, of course, happy to echo the sentiment. And I meant it. Woo!

The other best moment of the evening came when the DJ put on 'The Heat Is On' by Glenn Frey (at my request), and Smiley (Ex) Surf-Shop Gal dragged me to the floor, and we danced and twirled like complete mooks. This was followed by some wonderful posturing during 'Gold!', and climaxed with a circle of people putting their arms around one another's shoulders and pogoing to 'Girl From Mars' whilst the bride danced in the centre. It was a perfect trio! I was too respectful to other dancefloor users to shake it any further, and retired afterwards to the bar.

The DJ played until the curfew, and then Nooma announced that she could play the piano, and managed to hammer out the first few bars of 'House Of The Rising Sun' before realising that she was drunk and actually couldn't play, but soldiered on anyway. A crowd of folk gathered round and sang songs like 'Walking In The Air', 'Gold!' (again) and 'Kumbaya', with Nooma occasionally hitting the right notes. Then we retired to the mini-bus escorting us back home, sang songs and passed around a bottle of vodka until the driver finally kicked us to the kerb outside The Ship Of Fools.

TBC...