Declaring intentions

If Guido had anything to do with planning our wedding we would only have a guest list of (and we are talking worst case scenario here folks) just four people.  That’s Guido, me, a Registrar, and Gary and Ted – they’ve already confirmed their availability as bridesmaids.  If I’m very lucky this might be followed by a lunch reservation in some dark corner at The Garrison Pub in Bermondsey Street.  As Guido never bothers to read this blog I am happy to tell you that I’ve another covert guest list drawn up.  I am even more happy tell you that it stretches over three pages in my notebook and that there are currently one hundred and four names on it. And no, it doesn’t yet include the Spanish contingent, nor the band.  

“Will it be quick and painless?” asked Guido.  He was making our initial registration sound like a visit to the dentist. 

“It will be if we do it as soon as possible,” I said.  I was lying.  This would make absolutely no difference whatsoever but I thought it might move things along.  “The Registrar will ask us lots of personal and detailed questions and then post our names to a noticeboard in the town hall like two wanted fugitive outlaws from the wild west.”  For some reason cowboy hats and leather tassel chaps sprang tantalisingly to mind.

Declaring your intention to marry is the law here.  Then anyone who wants to, can object to it.  Like the person you might actually still be married to so you don’t become a bigamist. I can’t imagine anything worse than those stories you hear about from time to time where some demented loose cannon bursts through the vestry doors just as the vicar is about to say, and you may kiss the bride, shouting “STOP! STOP!” and causing a right palaver all over the alter. Anne Bancroft’s character in the film, The Graduate, did that right at the end and look at the state she got herself into.

“The Registrar will also want to make sure our intentions are for real,” I said. If they’re not, it’s what they call in the marriage trade, a complete sham. This was obviously making me nervous.  Guido would not be staring into my eyes adoringly.  Nor would he be holding me in a romantic clinch. This may give the Registrar the illusion that we were not in love and it was all just going to be a convenient financial arrangement.  Which would add worrying weight in the sham department. At least we were both British passport holders and it would be impossible for us to be deported to Belarus just because Guido couldn’t immediately recall what date my mother was born or what colour our bedroom curtains are.

“On our wedding day we could get matching tee-shirts with slogans printed on them,” said Guido.  “Something like – he’s mine, on mine, and I’m his, on yours – emblazoned across our chests.  Something obvious so no one would be in any doubt.  What do you think?”  I obviously told him.

By the way, our bedroom curtains are cotton white and we have highly effective black out lining – just in case you were wondering.

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6 thoughts on “Declaring intentions

  1. I wasn’t actually wondering, but figured I wouldn’t get questioned by immigration. Don’t knock Guido’s wedding plans – we had 1 attendant, 1 officiant and a really bad photographer (ante up for that – you’ll be glad you get a good one). And we had a late lunch at a hotel rooftop overlooking the White House. It was all quite civilized.

    As for the t-shirts, I can only imagine your response. Mine would have been similar.

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  2. We just finished the second season of “Vicious” here in America, and your wedding plans sound a bit like a revised version of the final episode. I was happy to see that every thing came off without a hitch, but I hope it’s more romantic and no less a happy occasion for you and Guido. Cheers!

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  3. All so over whelming. If I ever did settle on a man and get married, how would I ever select a wedding ensemble? Let alone a guest list.

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  4. I know one of the elements in the procrastination for my partner and I to marry is the deemed morass of wedding preparations. Making an impromptu in/out ceremony is less painful but seems to make the ritual less numinous though. good luck.

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  5. We did it at the courthouse back in 2008 (California’s small little window before proposition 8) with just our friends John and Tim as our witnesses, and then we witnessed theirs. After the four of us shared a bottle of bubbly overlooking the bay we got on our phones, called all our friends and had an impromptu reception at a small Italian restaurant. Sixty friends showed up and filled the place on a Tuesday night with just a moments notice. It was beautiful.

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