And I don't just mean family and friends. There's the priest, all the priests lackeys and henchmen, the string quartet playing Beethoven upstairs, the pathetic DJ at the reception . . . all there just for Matt and Jackie.
Theirs was an orthodox catholic wedding and therefore very, very boring. (I asked the groom shortly beforehand if the thing was going to be boring, and to his credit, he replied that yes, it would be).
I never stopped being astonished by the gruesome image of Christ mounted on his cross. Or by the fact that it's okay to show nails having been thrust through the middle of his palms, 'cause that's how it "actually was", but in this rendition, the role of Jesus's nudity shall be played by some anonymous rag. For even thy Saviour's naughty bits are still, indeed, naughty bits.
This particular church was very resplendently decked with paintings of Christ in various states of physical and mental anguish, as befitting the patron deity of masochism. And the priest, interestingly, chose to use his speech-time to squawk out his political dispositions, talking about how a healthy society has full families with a mummy AND a daddy . . .
The reception was also very boring. My mum and sister were with me, and they managed to make zombified small-talk with the boring people we sat with, while I was able to break the monotony only by drinking pot after pot of coffee, thereby creating opportunities to get up and use the bathroom.
I began thinking about how I'm never getting married. It's like something I know in my bones . . . It's just not gonna happen to me. I thought about my ideal future, and I pictured a simple little one room flat in Europe or Japan somewhere, with a computer, and a ton of books.
Or maybe a boat. A flat or a boat. But lots of books, that's for certain.