My Uncle Paul caught me by the elbow, with a slightly manic look in his eye. As Sister of the Bride, I suspected that I had some tricky chore or duty coming my way. Had we run out of Prosecco? Did I need to find some Marigolds because Something Had Happened in the village hall toilets? He spoke out of the side of his mouth, part old-time gangster, part man who is suddenly conscious of the fact he has been drinking session ales for nine hours. ‘Bo-Rap!’ he hissed. ‘It is TIME!’
Oh. Bo-Rap.
I lumbered up onto little stage, with little dignity – I’d been getting stuck into the ales too – and launched myself at the DJ, who luckily, was also my husband. ‘Uncle Paul says Bo-Rap!’ DJ Dale obediently changed the tunes, switching from his carefully curated selection of Northern Soul classics to ‘Is this the reeeeeeeeeeeeeal life…’ as Cousins, Aunties and Uncles stormed the floor and formed a Queen themed mosh pit. Albeit a mosh pit that appeared to be sponsored by the Debenhams collection.
I miss weddings so much. I have an enormous, extended Catholic family, and we average two or three receptions a year. We have a single, serious wedding tradition. Towards the end of the evening, we hurl ourselves around, sweaty and uncoordinated, for the full six minutes of Bohemian Rhapsody – and the dance ends with everyone, regardless of age or chiropractic health, lying on their backs, waving their arms and legs in the air.
Weddings have been a casualty of COVID, andI’m desperately sad for the hundreds of thousands of people who have been cancelling and postponing their long awaited ceremonies. We held our breath on Monday, hoping the Prime Minister might announce a relaxing of rules on 21 June. Would weddings go ahead? Yes – and no. In very specific circumstances, the 30 person cap will be lifted – but the rules read like a riddle. Indoor dancefloors are forbidden, and dancing outdoors is ‘strongly discouraged’.
While I believe it makes sense for us to be as cautious as possible, as infection rates rise, I’m so sad for all of those people who have been waiting so long for their weddings. I’m sad for me, too. I’m not especially bothered about going to clubs, and I don’t even miss festivals that much. (Over the last year, I’ve spent too much time feeling anxious in queues to contemplate voluntarily lining up to use a Portaloo.) But I’m desperate to be in a hall full of people contemplating the first bars of Toto’s Africa in awestruck silence, before they fall over their feet to get to the dance floor. I want to meet my friends’ families, and my families’ friends. I want to bicker with my husband because I went to the loo an hour ago and disappeared, spending an hour talking to the bride’s godmother about shampoo. (This happened at my friend Ashley’s wedding.) I even miss the panicked dash to the train station Accessorize. At the peak of lockdown, I was feeling so fed up and gloomy that I almost spent £120 on tiny handbags and huge flowery hairclips, just to capture a bit of the missing wedding magic.
Over the last few weeks, we’ve been trying to adjust to the strange and overwhelming reality of having a social life again. After months of living with the stop-start strangeness of Zoom calls, I’ve forgotten the basics of real life human interaction. Surely I’m not the only one who is struggling with small talk? Weddings would be the perfect place to practise. We’re surrounded by people who already know us, love us, and will hopefully forgive us for any white wine inspired transgressions – or people we will never see again. We have the perfect, easy opener – ‘How do you know the bride/groom?’ If we’re feeling bold, we can experiment with other conversation topics over chewy chicken and chocolate mousse. More often than not, strangers have become Facebook friends before the last uneaten asparagus parcel is taken away. One phenomenon warrants scientific study. When a large family gathers for a Christmas meal, someone shouty and senior will inevitably fall prey to Brexit Uncle Syndrome. But I’ve never, ever been seated at a wedding breakfast and had someone introduce themselves to me by sharing their furious views about single currency.
Ultimately, it’s a privilege and honour to be asked to attend a wedding. When the people you love ask you to be a witness to their love, that’s all that really matters. You have been invited to help them to uphold a sacred, profound commitment, and no-one needs feathered fascinators and mushroom vol au vents in order to make the day a significant one. I’d rather fight the spread of the Delta variant than fight for my right to party. However, if you’re getting married after 19th July, and you need to make up some numbers, I’d love to come and dance at your wedding. I’ll bring the moves, the John Lewis vouchers and my own sausage rolls.