The UK Wedding

Spied in Budapest - the Biggest Fru-Fru Wedding Cake Ever!

A recount from the terrible bride's maid.

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of weddings. I like them probably as much as going to the dentist, which makes me feel bad, as all girls getting married want their girlfriends to be gushy and to love every minute of it.  When R. asked me to be her bride's maid, I said yes, not because I wanted to, but because I knew how important it was for her and because she's such a dear friend, I'd do anything for her. But I just couldn't shake off that "I hate wedding" feeling, and because I couldn't, I felt incredibly guilty throughout the entire process. I even had a few nightmares about the wedding. The more I tried to push away the feeling of dread, the more I just wanted to run in the opposite direction.  Does this make me a bad and selfish friend? I hope not.

I dislike weddings as I think the fuss and expense involved is just not worth that one stupid day where you're parading around, going through the motions of what you need to do for a wedding. I find that all weddings are pretty much the same, and the traditions have become meaningless. Most girls want to get married in a church for the sole purpose of having the church as the backdrop for their wedding photos. And nobody really deserves to wear white anymore.

Many weddings run the risk of becoming a circus spectacle. You don't get to spend any quality time with anybody, as you're just running around trying to get through the entire procession. As a spectator, I don't think it makes much of a difference whether you're there or not - a live size cut out of yourself would serve the same purpose for the wedding photos. And if you're a part of the wedding party, you run the risk of dealing with bridezillas and becoming entangled in family politics.

My advice? Take all that money and throw yourself one fabulous party or go on a whirlwind holiday instead. 


This bride's maid needs another holiday. *sigh*


The Hen's Weekend

 Honestly, if I had to organise one of those stereotypical drunken hen's nights where the bride wears a fake veil with a flashing tiara and the bride's maids wear those sashes.... Complete that with bar hopping at seedy bars with a stripper to end the night - somebody slash my wrists already, please......

Much to my relief, R. didn't want any of that. Instead, she suggested that we do a weekend awayando check out a few of the many baths in Budapest. Well, to be fair, it wasn't so much her idea but mine; visting the baths in Hungary has always been on my list. I had mentioned the idea in passing quite a while back, ("Hey, wouldn't a spa weekend away be the best idea for a Hen's weekend away?") and admittedly, when she brought up the idea again, I secretly wished that I had never mentioned the idea to her in the first place. As much as I love that girl, we DO NOT TRAVEL WELL TOGETHER. The last experience at Sun & Bass - (not going to any of the gigs as they started too late, being afraid that other guys "might" try to pick her up, her telling me that she's never ever going to have another holiday away from her fiance as it was just too difficult to be apart,) well, I'm just surprised that she has such a poor short term memory. Anyway, R. hinted at the idea of Budapest numerous times to the lead up to her wedding. The first couple of times she brought it up, I let the subject slide in hope that she'd forget about it. In the end, I relented and I'm glad we went. We still aren't the best of travel buddies, but as nothing significantly bad went down on our trip, it's all that I can ask for :)

(Above: Chain Bridge)

 

The Highlights: 
- The beautiful Szechnyi Baths

(Above: Me before I packed on the travel kilos.... *sighI)

- Having the best orange duck at Cafe Kor
- Eating kremes (vanilla cream pie) @ the Ruszwurm Cafe, Castle District

- Listening to classical music at one of the many concert venues in Budapest.

The Lowlight
The "massage" at Palatinus Baths on Margaret island. It was akin to getting a spa treatment at a dilapidated public pool. The story goes that R. insisted on coming here as she thought I really wanted to go there. I, on the other hand really wanted to go to the Gellert baths, but because R. was so insistent on Margaret island (to the point where we were starting to have an argument,) I relented and agreed to go the Palatinus Baths instead. 

 Talk about the wrong choice.


The Kitchen Tea 

It was on the same day as the Wimbledon's Men's Finals. Truthfully speaking, had I been offered front row tickets, I don't think I could confidently say I would have chosen the Kitchen Tea over the Tennis Finals.....

(Above: the original "Bride's Maids" - before the movie)

Okay, give me that "I'm a fucking bad bride's maid and friend" t-shirt.....

R. makes sushi which is barely touched by the English ladies who peer suspiciously at it, turn up their noses and ask, "What on earth is that?"
MIght I add that in this part of the country, the groom had not even tried rice until this year. 

 

 

R.'s fiance A. soon realises that he has made a poor choice in his best man. The best man's middle name is "Disorganised", and hasn't organise anything special for the buck's night. He is also an hour and a half late for their group night out of town. R.'s brother, mutters something about the bars in Coventry being "a bit rough" the following day, which says something, given that Rockingham is the equivalent of Essex in Perth.

The Dress Fitting

Alice through the Looking Glass, Bristol

 

We head to Bristol for R.'s final dress fitting. The other bride's maid J., is all drama and doesn't come. Why? She was involved with some guy who lives there some 5 years ago, and thought she might bump into him - in a city of one million, while in the bridal store, of course. 

(Yes, there was screaming and crying to the lead up to the wedding with me sandwiched in the middle - God help me.) 

Above: The Wedding Dress

R. is disappointed that neither her mum or I cry when we see her in her wedding dress. I don't know how to tell her that I'm just not that kind of person.
 

The Making of the Wedding Cake

The making of the wedding cake started in the early hours of the morning. R. was extremely stressed as there were cracks appearing on the icing of the cake. I stayed clear of the kitchen and hid upstairs in the spare room.

The Wedding

The Location: Coombe Abbey

The Vibe: Old English Manor. 

The Honeymoon suite - Medieval and Dusty Looking

(Beautiful, but the old manor style reminds me too much of a stuffy, dusty museum. Eh, each to their own...)

My hair: 

Curled 1920's style. The end result: in a pretty dress and flower in my hair, I looked like a China doll.

Interview with the Celebrant: R. stressed about the formal recording of her having lived with her fiance prior to getting married.

Gottcha: R. got what she wanted as I started crying moments before she walked down the aisle.

 

The Weather: There were some patches of sunshine in the early hours of the morning, but became overcast as the wedding was about to start. It was good for the photos, the photographer said. It (thankfully) only started raining after we were done with the photos.

 The shoes: Started to hurt towards the end of the Wedding Breakfast. The dress actually started hurting around about the same time. It was tight to begin with but even tighter after I ate dessert......

(Above: The bride's maids - J. & I)

Above: The New Wedded Couple

The Dessert - Strawberry Shortcake

The Wedding Dance: The Lion King's "Can't you Feel the Love Tonight"

The Cake: Three tiers of traditional fruit cake, chocolate cake and lemon cake. Yum. And no, (much to R.'s relief,) nobody couldn't see the cracks!

 

The present: The Best Man re-gifted his canoe - along with a left handed paddle.....

The Snide English Remark:  I was told that "We have a more civilised way of doing things (ie: weddings) over here." 

Well, at least we Aussies know how to throw a party and don't limit their guest to one alcoholic drink in fear that they might "make a scene".

My Island Home Moment: R.'s dad (the proud Aussie convert,) requests Men at Work's "Land Down Under" and all us Aussies chant "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi!!"  - much to the chagrin of some of the English people there, I'm sure. 

The Faux Pas: The Best Man (who didn't stay overnight in the Manor,) popped around in the morning for the breakfast with his girlfriend in tow. The breakfast was apparently only for the close family and the bridal party who stayed over. The groom was really annoyed, made snide comments and shook his head at everybody else, but the best man.

The Bad News: The photographer asked R. if he could use some of her wedding photos as a part of his display portfolio at weddings expos. She said yes of course, so now there's a photo of me (holding a perfume bottle and making a funny face,) floating around the UK forever in a wedding. Great.

The most important thing of all was that R. got the wedding she always wanted, and I'm glad of that. x

London: The Good, The Bad and the Ugly Toilet Monster

Let this be an education to those who have wondered what it is like living in London...... Anything that should be so simple is just so difficult; it's like pulling teeth or trying eat jelly with a knife. It's just so frustrating because neither assertiveness or being persistent seems to work, and after a while, people give up and just accept the way things are. "We're very sorry, but there's nothing we can do," is the phrase that is parroted over and over again. "I'm sorry, but we just follow the rules," and "Computer says No," comes a close second. The only consistent thing that seems to work is to start bawling - the English seem to get scared when you start crying because you're making a scene - and then all of a sudden, somewhat miraculously, the creaky cogwheels start turning. GP receptionist cannot find your file or any record that you've registered with the practice? Just start crying. Haven't been paid for ten weeks because of a glitch in the payroll system? Turn on the waterworks. "I don't have enough money for rent and am going to have to live in a cardboard box," works quite well. Not sure why I didn't do it sooner. That's right, I was trying to be assertive.

Toilet Monster Timeline:
3rd June Thursday: Get a text from cousin JY to say that there has been an incident with the toilet. Apparently the water level started rising the night before and as they weren't sure what to do, they just left it. In the morning, there was a massive explosion of sewerage all over the bathroom. When shit hits the fan is an understatement. They spend the entire day cleaning, although by right the landlord should have covered the cost for an industrial cleaner. The landlord is contacted and there is the usual shifting of blame - "Not sure how long it will take to fix," "It's a problem with the building's pipes and not the house," - and absolutely no acknowledgment of his responsibility or the fact that the apartment is unlivable in this state.

4th June Friday: Back from Barcelona. Toilet's still not fixed so I head to Waterloo to the hotel where my aunt is conveniently staying. (Thank God for relatives who travel the world for work!)

7th June Monday: No news from the landlord about whether the toilet's been fixed. I stay on at the hotel and it's off to Norfolk the next day.

10th June Thursday: Back just for one night. The landlord has advised that the toilet was fixed over the weekend, with the plumber having a look at the pipes outside but not at the toilet inside the flat. Everybody starts using the toilet somewhat tentatively.

10th June Thursday Evening: Cousin JY spots a slight trickle of back flow from the toilet. "This is what happened the last time," is what she says. Hmm, sounds like it's still not fixed.

11th June Friday: Escape from the toilet monster in the early hours of Friday morning. Off to sunny Mykonos.

22nd June Tuesday: Back from the Greek islands. Cousin JY reports that the toilet was finally fixed as of.....yesterday! "What about the first time when the landlord said that the plumber came to fix it over the weekend?" I ask. Apparently it was a case of the plumber having a look at it.....and that was it. Landlord then tells everyone that it's been "fixed".

24th June Thursday: Off to Nottingham => Budapest => Coventry

30th June Wednesday: Email from Cousin JY. Apparently the toilet still might not be working. I am advised not to use it and that she will try to get it repaired when she's back in late Sept. W1 postcode and no toilet. Might as well be living in a car park space. I offer to try and help get the toilet fixed when I'm back in London in August.

9th July Friday: I see my aunt on msn. I advise her that I'm back in London on Sunday for the day. I ask her whether she wants me to try and sort out the toilet. She tells me that it may be best to just pay for the plumber. "Chasing the landlord might take years," is what she types.

11th July Sunday 9am: Back in London for the day. I check the toilet under JY's instructions. There is a back flow of crap coming back up the toilet. Oh shit, literally. This cannot wait until September - it's become a critical hygiene issue. I msg my aunt to see if she can get the contact of the plumber who can apparently come within the day. I'm too scared to flush the toilet so I chuck some bleach down the loo. I get a text from my aunt's friend with the plumber's contact details. He cautions that it's still best to go through the landlord as things will become complicated if we try to fix it ourselves and if it goes wrong. I email my aunt and cousin and leave it as that.

11th July 10am: I cannot take it. I close the bathroom door, leave the flat and head to Fernandez & Wells in Soho for a much needed coffee.

Chocolate banana cake. Mmmmm...

11th July 11:55am: Brunch/lunch @ the Breakfast Club. There's something on the website's menu that we all want (hash browns with chorizo, mushrooms and a rocket salad). It's not on the paper menu, but seriously, they have all those ingredients in other dishes so surely they can make this up? No....of course not. This is London so when we ask the waitress, she frowns and the computer says no. "The only other thing we have is the specials on the menu," she says waving a hand at the chalkboard. What do you know, the special on the board is exactly what we were asking for. Not that the computer was listening. We see that it can be only ordered until 12 noon so we try to flag her down to order, but she's already off.

11th July 12:05pm: We finally flag the waitress down. It's five past the hour when we order the specials. We're late in ordering and she knows it. She frowns as she looks at her watch and tells us that she'll have to check with the kitchen.

11th July 12:08pm: Success! The computer is able to say yes! What a surprise!

12th July: Email from Cousin JY. She tells me that she'll email the landlord to get the toilet fixed.

22nd July: JY reports that an email to landlord has been sent, however he has hasn't responded. wtf. I suggest to JY to stop paying the rent.

29th July: Overnight stay in London where I not only find the toilet moldy, but a suspicious brown residue in both the kitchen sinks and the bath tub!!! Eeeewww..... I am forced to flush the toilet - thankfully, there is no explosion. Email to JY and aunty advising them to stop paying rent. No toilet since June? Ridiculous. I take a trip to the hotel opposite the flat to use their toilet.

30th July: AM spent cleaning the kitchen sink, bath tub and toilet.

1st August: Email from JY asking if I can take photos of the toilet, sink and bathroom as evidence of the ongoing issue. I reply to tell her that it's too late, I've already cleaned everything!

3rd August: Back from Amsterdam, still no resolution. Continuing to pretend that I'm a resident at the hotel opposite the flat.

4th August: Advised by JY that one of the flatmates who is back mid-August will chase the landlord up. I am unconvinced and predict that the toilet still won't be fixed by the time I leave in September.

5th August: Off to Edinburgh this morning. I throw in a generous amount of bleach into the toilet as a safety precaution.

13th August: Early a.m., back from Edinburgh. Suspicious residue in the toilet. I take a photo for JY before bracing and flushing.


13th August: Late a.m.. Badly need the toilet and run over to the hotel opposite the flat. Am caught by a workman having a cigarette outside the flat who watches me scuttle in and out of the hotel. Great. Ironically, the music playing the ladies restroom sounds like something out of Laurel and Hardy. I feel like I'm in some sort of slapstick pantomime. A. asks me via FB whether I got stuck in the toilet seat for effect. That comment deserves a beer when we meet up at Sun & Bass.

14th August: I check with cousin JY who now says that her flat mate's only back at the end of August. Apparently the toilet will be sorted then. Er, okay.....

16th August: I visit my aunty in Cambridge who offers to let me stay longer in light of the non-functioning toilet. I tell her that it's okay as I'm off to stay with my dad's friend in Haywards Heath at the end of the week.

29th August: Back from Haywards Heath where I find the Flat mate WM home!!! He tells me that the toilet smells really clean and nice.
"Erm, that's only because I've been throwing toilet duck and bleach down the toilet all this time," I say.
He says that the toilet looks okay so he's starting using it again. (Erm, really?)
"There was shit coming back up the toilet," I say. "AND you're still getting sewerage coming up your bath and your kitchen sink."
Flatmate WM says that "maybe he will follow up on this."
Er, okay.

30th August: While packing my bags for Valencia, I so happen to catch this:

Sewerage coming up the bath.

1st September: Nobody seems concerned about the toilet. I give up and start using it like normal. I'm not here for much longer anyway, so if it all goes to shit (literally), I probably would be gone by then.

2nd September: Off to Sun & Bass - woohoo!!!!

18th September: Back for my final weekend and "The Festival of Me". The toilet's not flushing particularly well and needs to be flushed twice to clear it.

20th September: R. comes to visit me from Coventry. She asks whether "the toilet monster will get her if she uses the toilet". I tell that that there are no guarantees, but luckily, nothing happens.

22nd September: I see cousin JY in Singapore. "You're toilet's going to explore at some stage again," I say. "It's displaying the exact same symptoms as before, like not flushing properly."
"That's only because the water flow is weak," says cousin JY.
"Er, I think you're pipes are actually blocked," I say and leave it as that.
My aunt shakes her head. "Kampong mentality," she says. "Maybe the toilet cannot be fixed."

Moral of the story? If your toilet breaks down in June, don't expect it to be repaired within a four month period.

THE END

Bristol in the Looking Glass

...in Bristol currently on bridesmaid duties. Next on the agenda: learning how to lace up R.'s wedding dress.

The Evangelist

It happens 6pm daily, on RTE One (Ireland's main tv station). It's suppose to be the time to reflect and to fiddle with your rosary beads. I don't pretend to understand. With the very recent paedophilia scandal in Ireland over priests sexually harassing young boys, the Vatican advising the priests in Ireland to cover up, and the churches in Ireland still supporting a number of practicing Priests who were involved in the cover up to continue in their position.........I'm slightly more than anti-Catholic at this point in time.




I swear that they use to show a montage scene with a farmer, his cow, his haystack and a lady in a wheelchair. I wanted to take a recording of it, but I never saw it again. Now nobody will ever believe me.