If you follow convention, a couple's wedding night should follow a fairly tried and trusted theme. A fond farewell from dear friends, a departure to romantic climbs in the back of a luxury car, and a night of unrivaled passion not seen since Romeo ascended that balcony to have his wicked way with Juliet.
Our's didn't quite follow that format. Actually, it didn't even flirt with it. Truth is, as romance goes, it was a bit deficient. First of all,huge thanks to the scoundrels whom decided toothpaste and baked beans would look good over the bonnet and the windscreen. And whilst we're mentioning the car, I'm not sure a 1980's maroon Austin Meastro compares so well against some of the other available options. But hey, it least it was clean, or had been. So anyway, trailing cans and other debris we made steady progress through Hemel Hempstead, the windscreen oddly discolored and looking like a cooking surface from Masterchef. By the time we reached Aston Clinton a decision had been made, albeit one that arguably lacked a certain romantic finesse. We stopped at a garage and I gave the car a jet wash. Yes, you did hear that right. I spent my wedding night washing the car.
But all was not lost! Surely an exotic destination awaited us? An oasis of luxury, indulgence, the beds laced with petals and the champagne on ice?
Actually no. We went home to Albert Street. No wait, it's not as bad as it sounds, honest. You see, Joy and I had never lived together, and we'd spent the previous nine weeks renovating the house, transforming it from an uninhabitable shell into a beautifully decorated, freshly carpeted first home. And believe it or not we'd chosen to wait before spending the night together. How's that for traditional? Bet you never thought I'd be capable of that, did you?
So we were home. Our home. Our first home. We thought we'd kept it a secret but somebody had left us croissants and flowers and condoms on the doorstep. Anyway, we were reaching that moment, the one that all newlyweds look forward to. Our first night together. Only that didn't exactly go to plan either. I mean, Joy had sixty seven pins in her hair! Have you any idea how long it took to go rooting around for them? Tell you what, by the time I'd safely recovered every last one it was stupid O'clock and we were both knackered. So without putting too finer point on it, our wedding night fell some way short of the one's you see in the movies. Still, we got to cuddle up together, and those croissants tasted grand come the morning.