I’m getting married this weekend. I KNOW, RIGHT?
I won’t lie – I’m a bit nervous. Don’t mistake that for cold feet – I’m not having doubts, that’s a different thing altogether. I’m just nervous.
It’s a strange thing to be nervous about, though, considering the occasion. We’re surrounding ourselves with our loved ones, friends and family who have seen us evolve over 30 years and know us better than perhaps we know ourselves.
Then we’re taking those 130 people and putting them in a fabulous medieval barn in Dorset, where they’ll see us married, before being fed food and copious amounts of booze – and asked nothing of, but to dance like pillocks for six hours.
We’ve called in favours: my sister-in-law is our photographer; my other brother’s wife has painted all the place names; Swarana’s brother and three friends are DJing; our friend Tabbs is sorting the flowers; JQ is bringing the PA; our housemate Amy designed the invites and painted the road sign; my excellent friend Kat has offered to do Swarana’s hair; the list goes on and on.
It really has been astonishing. From the best men to distant cousins, the contributions have been both generous and crucial to our ability to throw this party. Not to mention the handsome donations from the mother and father of the bride, to whom we are most grateful.
Yet, with all these gifts and assistance, I remain worried. How can that be? you ask, inaudibly.
Truth be told: I’m not terribly good in front of people. My friends will all baulk at the idea that I’m shy, but that’s because I love them and can readily be myself in front of them. But standing in front of people – lots of people, all eyes on me – that’s something else. Let alone dancing with my wife-to-be, alone on the dance floor – watched.
“All my pretty chickens…”
People will amiably remind me of my thespian past, acting on the stage in front of hundreds (on a good night). But pretending to be Macduff on stage, the audience obscured by banks of spotlights, is not the same as being Tim, standing in the absence of that blinding freedom, with every face of the audience clear and discernable.
Swarana is not exactly a showman either. She hears the same assumption from her friends: Swarana can’t possibly be shy, she’s so friendly and chatty and welcoming. Well, yes, she is… but she’s like that when she feels safe. She feels safe in the company of her friends. Ergo, she’s not shy with friends.
So, my speech (and the speeches of my best men), I’m nervous about; the dance, I’m nervous about; everyone having a good time, I’m nervous about; the weather! Who fucking knows how that will turn out?
Anxiety abounds! But, despite all that apprehension, I realised the one thing I’m not nervous about is actually marrying Swarana. That bit, at least, will be a walk in the park.