I have to confess (no pun intended) that I’m not a particularly religious person. If the truth be known I’m almost entirely not a religious person at all.
But by this time next week I will have made an exception and said my prayers.
I know, I know, it’s very hypocritical to ignore religion until you want something from it but this isn’t a death bed confession or a plea to win the Lottery (not that I’d say no to the latter of course).
No. All I want is for the day to be warm and sunny and dry and for everything to run smoothly.
That’s because it’s the day that The Only One and the Lovely Helen get married. It’s the day that they (well, mostly Helen) have been planning to the finite detail for a long, long time and the only part of it that is completely out of their control is the weather.
Normally I wouldn’t worry as much (though, obviously as any regular readers - and I’m assured there are some out there - will know, I do actually worry about pretty much everything) because this is summer time and therefore the sun should be shining like a chapter from The Famous Five.
But the last few weekends haven’t been that great and the weekdays have been even worse. Fortunately the wedding is in St Chad’s Church in Poulton and it’s well raised up so no matter what freak deluge may occur, the chances of Helen floating or boating down the aisle are slim. But even so I hope to goodness the sun shines.
They deserve it. Heaven knows, Matthew (aka The Only One – there, the secret’s out!) has brought so much sunshine into my life during his 28 years that surely it’s not too much to ask for bit of it to be given back to him on this oh so important day.
I will cry of course. I will try not to but I will fail. I cried when I first held him in my arms at Blackpool Victoria Hospital. I cried when I first left him at university and knew I would have to fend for myself until he came back. I could have cried when he and Helen set up house together but I held back because I knew he’d be looked after, and be happy, and anyway, he was only three or four miles away.
The Manager will be in tears from first thing in the morning – though the breakfast “champagne and bacon barms” might delay the sobbing for a while. I will attempt to hold back the floodgates until at least the words “I do” put the seal on things.
Unlike our own low key ceremony (15 minutes in and out of Leeds Register Office) we will have even had to attend a rehearsal (though there’s probably a more technical or religious term for it). I’ll know where I’m sitting, I’ll know when to stand and when not to. I’ll know when to mime to the hymns (sorry, but I’ve done it since my schooldays). I just won’t know when the first tear will fall.
Perhaps I’ll hold off until the speeches. Maybe even last until they take to the dance floor for the first time as man and wife (or married son and daughter-in-law!) but at some stage of next Saturday I can guarantee I’ll be wiping my face.
I wish them both health, wealth and happiness and as long a marriage as the 40 years The Manager and I have enjoyed.