To be traditional, or not to be? Here’s a story.
A couple of weeks ago, our cousin got married. An intimate and windy ceremony was had, one day. And a bustling, banterous party, another. Mr D and I, we went to the party. And it was bustling and banterous. And very lovely. The cousin is now travelling on far shores. But I’m sure we will be blogging her wedding story sometime down the Be road. For now I’ll tell of Cromarty. And the weekend of the party : w-day 2…
One fine and cold Saturday morning, the first of 2012, Mr D and I met a niece called Ashton, and together we bus’d it to Inverness, and beyond. A jaunt we expected to take a long while, but we slept and patter’d our way through the journey, and by afternoon, we were standing on a stony beach, staring out at the north sea, looking all windswept and interesting. It was 3 o clock and all was well.
So after some deep in thought moments with the wind.. we headed up to our lodgings. The Cromarty Training Centre, a restored and converted 18th century brewery. A gorgeous brick building with hostel style rooms and fairy lights adorning the walls. A quick and shivery wee jaunt to the local pub (with a sneaky rummage in a gorgeous antique shop on the way) and then it was back to get ready.
No kilt? the cousins did cry when Mr D expressed regret at his lack of tartan.. No no no, Mother will bring my old one for you, a cousin then said. And so, a few chilly whiskys later, a smoosh of the hair, and a change into skirts for us both, we were ready to wedding-party. So the night rambled on with banter and singing and pool and stovies and all the while the cousin-bride looked merry and braw in vintage-y loveliness.
Yup, that image above is the star of the wedding-bus-singing-contest. Mr D. Hm Hm.
And so we bus’d it back to the pretty place for more whisky and dancing. We ceilidh‘d ourselves silly, the cold shook me shakey (in a lovely fresh north air way), we had an all guest-hands on deck clean up and wobbled off to bed. And everyone was merry.
The tale continues….
One thing about weddings that I fear, is the speed it goes past and boof! its over. I’ll be doing a bit of a Kate Moss (minus the celebrities, the budget, the 49 bridesmaids and maybe less a day). But the jist is, I’ll be extending my day to a stay over for our guests (the closest ones.. which is many) before and after, with cooking and decorating and drinking and brunching. (and maybe even helping with the cleaning??? taking it too far???) I dont think so. The cousin, albeit in a smaller fashion, had the same rough ideas as me. (Then again, she is of the same noggin-gene). Here’s the story of the lovely morning-after-w-day-2 in Cromarty…
We wake. It doesnt feel good. We amble down to the breakfast room to make tea. More of the wedding folks arrive. They feel the same. It feels like hangover. But then we are jesting and guffawing and piecing together the night we had. And its fun. Some people we had never even seen before.. new wedding-y friends. A mutual love of the beautifully-dressed people. Thats what we had. So we walked together up a hill to a house of bacon and teapots and coffee and cake. And it still felt like the wedding.
When planning a wedding, there’s big talks of tradition. A whole bunch of should we’s shouldn’t we’s. What would the parents like, the grandparents, a snooty family member, or the posh one. I like traditions… Yup, I like the idea of wearing a beautiful dress. I love the one where Mr D may now kiss the bride (me). I’ll keep the one where we eat food with all our family and friends. And I want a first dance with Mr D as his new wife. But, as for the rest, I’m going to make our own.
Traditions begin somewhere. So why not make some.
Love Claire@Be x