Wedding day. Time to find the biggest breakfast possible to keep us going till the canapés. The four of us are worried we won’t manage, having experienced that dreadful hunger when waiting in between the ceremony and dinner. Kirsty’s gonna have oatcakes in her pocket in case. Not a lot of choice we go to the Birks Cinema Cafe. Really cute that there is a proper cinema in a population of 2,000. Been here since 1939 and still going strong. It’s bright and well-kept. We think it would be a good place to socialise for a drink if you lived here. Old movie posters on the wall. A good one for The Shining. We all get full breakfasts, three veggie and one meat for me. The chef is animated and amusing, with a voice that projects through the café. He asks “who’s the carnivore?” as he brings the plates. It tastes a bit cheap. The sausages don’t have much flavour and the bacon is unsmoked. A crime to bacon. It is indeed big enough to fill the hole.
Getting all dressed up Stu knocks on our door: “prosecco delivery!” Two little bubbly half glasses perfect for this moment. I take a photo and we laugh thinking what the post would look like to take a photo of every drink today. A gin and tonic tinnie on the wedding bus.
The ceremony is beautiful. Agnostic and grounded. There are Scottish traditions and modern themes. They charge a stone from Iona with love and the celebrant recites that “hold a stone of Iona in your hand and you hold the history of the world.” Tears and sniffs can be heard.
Thankfully we make it to the canapes still intact and unhungry, having not needed to worry. I love this in between stage standing outside with bite size food brought to you, your prosecco glass constantly topped up by applaudable generous waiters. Everyone is basking in the boozy happiness of celebration. Like a welcomed wild card, the catering is Mexican and delicious. Tiny tacos: one with guacamole, one with crab and another with salmon. I catch up with so many old friends. As much as marriage is a tired concept, there are not enough opportunities for days like these.
Our table place names are bagged macarons. The tastiest, sweetest macaron I’ve ever had. Chocolatey with salted caramel buttercream inside. Dinner is a help yourself buffet with lots of Mexican dishes. Rice, meats, cob, dips and pickles. I grab a bit of everything. Me gusta.
A few people get an espresso martini and like a virus it sets off a wave of everyone getting them. Super sweet with lots of Kahlua, it’s a dessert itself. The desserts are a choice of panna cotta or chocolate mousse. I share both with Ale. The panna cotta has a tres leches profile and the mousse is velvety and rich. Gin and tonics. Ciders. Wine.
Imogen, our pal who nearly went on bake off, made a lemon and elderflower cake with Italian meringue buttercream. Telling me I’m her baking pal I’m asked for my opinion, as if I’m knowledgeable and cherished. Light, fluffy, amazing. I praise the effort for Italian meringue buttercream. More tricky, but once you get to using that, American buttercream becomes objectionable.
The rest of the night is one big party blur with lots more gin. I worry that I will lose my voice. I don’t eat anything else until Sunday afternoon, having a hangover from hell. One of those ones where the thought of even being able to drink water is a painful struggle, let alone some food. I eventually manage the Greggs sausage roll that Ale bought me back in Pitlochry and had been sitting in my jacket pocket for the whole journey to Glasgow. We don’t have a microwave to heat it, but the cold solidified fat of the pastry and sausage is perhaps more favourable in this delicate state.
Ale orders a Ramen Dayo and I can’t bring myself to get anything. There is a 241 on gyoza, which I accept. Again, I eat this cold long after it has arrived and when I’m ready to stomach it. I done this to myself! Ale offers to go to the shops to get supplies. Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. My favourite flavour of B&J with a mix of many things going. I think B&J is so good because it’s actually kind of salty. Irn-Bru 1901. The super charged frothy Irn-Bru, that markets itself as historical in a glass bottle, but really it’s just a way to sell pre-sugar tax Irn-Bru and cover the higher costs. To me this is crisis Irn-Bru, for the worst hangovers in the world. Feed me it via an IV. I need all the sugar to heal from this wonderful wedding weekend. I wouldn’t change a thing.
This bumper weekend edition is Conor’s last post for us on the gazette. Thanks so much for sharing with us this week! It’s been a pleasure.
Sinae + Kate
*****
Find Conor on substack at ‘Mud Tracks’, on instagram @lifeisthefarce, and on his website here.
