I’m beginning to think I’m losing my mind. I was at a wedding down in Laois last Friday (erego the late Flickr Fiction) and as far as I can remember I had a great time. There was lots of wine and food and laughs. It was a lovely sunny day and warm with it, and the bride was glowing. We were staying in a hotel down the road and a mini-bus took us to the castle where the reception was taking place. Although it was much more of a party than a wedding reception. The bride wandered throught the crowd offering people ‘bloody mary tomatoes’ and after we’d finished choking on them said she’d used ‘much less vodka’ than the recipe recommended. Hmm, yes, just how long were those tomatoes soaking? They had brought in their own caterers and there was a free bar. So it was white wine for me and a beautiful piece of barbecued steak and salad for dinner. It starts to get a bit fuzzy as I try to remember the events later on in the evening, but then I can’t even begin to imagine how much wine I must have poured down my gullet (and my dress, and on the table) by the end of the night. Apparently there were homemade hamburgers served at around 11 and I have vague memories of seeing people wandering with food in the dark, but it could have been an alcohol induced dream. I’ve seen some photos since (still haven’t developed mine yet) and apparently I spent the entire day making weird faces. It’s the only way to explain the horrendous pictures. Normally when I drink I still pretty much remember everything and I’m the ‘go-to’ girl for anyone who wants clarification on just HOW LOUD they were really singing at the karaoke, or what that bloke REALLY looked like.
However on this occasion I appear to have been at a totally different wedding to everyone else.
‘Remember when the band played N17?’ (A band consisting of banjo, tin whistle, double bass and bongos)
‘Eh, No.’
‘And that girl started comparing her scars with J?’
‘Eh, No.’
‘And then the grooms mother got up to sing?’
Eh, No.’
‘And D said she looked like the Intel man in that rain-mac and asked the band to play the Intel jingle?’
‘Eh, No.’
‘And when we got back to the hotel we crashed an 80th birthday party and then had sandwiches and gin?’
‘Err, sorta.’

Country weddings, I’m blaming all that fresh air.