Guido’s parents, Juan and Rosa, stopped by the café tonight at around seven thirty to discuss the final preperations for our wedding menu. At some point between arguing about shelling prawns and whipping up the perfect meringue, Juan mixed a couple of jugs of his lethal sangria and switched on our Gypsy Kings CD. Then the four of us conga danced around the kitchen to Bem Bem Bem Maria, and yes you guessed it, by ten thirty the two of them had both passed out in our bed. Thank God it’s not tomorrow night or the pavlova could resemble the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
“You can have the couch later,” said Guido magnanimously, “I’ll take the floor.” He held up a couple of glasses full of sangria, “But why don’t we both just have one more for the road?”
I pulled the cushions and the rug off our sofa and we went downstairs and laid them out in the courtyard for a while. It’s been one of those lukewarm and calm London nights when you could hear double decker buses toot their horns going along the main road, a siren rushed urgently over on the other side of the River Thames and, if you looked straight up you could see the last of the night’s flights blinking over head as they turned towards the Heathrow landing lights. Guido put his arm round me. I pulled the blanket up to his hairy knees and we chinked tumblers together in a toast.
“Is that the Milky Way over there?” I said pointing up.
“Nah,” said Guido. “that’s just city light pollution.”
I squinted through my sangria, “I definitely think that’s the Milky Way. If not it’s some undiscovered constellation or galaxy. I wonder if somewhere way out there in deepest space, there’s a couple of gay Martians planning on getting married some time soon,” I said. “If only we had late night access to the telescope at the Greenwich Observatory we could wave good-luck to them too.”
Then all of a sudden I heard a peculiar snorting noise and when I looked round I could see Guido had just fallen asleep on my shoulder. I’m really hoping this isn’t some worrying new phenomenon he’s planning on introducing at bedtime after we’re married. Because if I blog that line of mine in the future – last night Guido and I were in bed – you’d know that in reality the fascinating discussion I’d been having had actually been just with myself.
Sitting there staring up at the cosmos my thoughts naturally started to stray to our wedding ceremony. I thought about the potentially cataclysmic choice of wearing a tight fitting tartan suit. Which of course made me empty the contents my glass in one giant gulp. I pondered the enormity of our wedding vows. Which of course then made me empty the contents of Guido’s glass in one giant gulp.
On Monday I’ll be telling Guido I will love him, I will honour him, and perhaps most binding of all, I will promise to cherish his spicy meatballs in a tomato arrabiata sauce for as long as we both shall live.
If the two of us can both manage to love each other for that long, then I reckon I’ve got to be the luckiest guy in the whole of the universe.