The Young Hugger Mugger

Chapter 1

The Meaning of a Phrase

Apologies in advance to anyone who peruses this and comes away with thinking that it reads like the plot of yet another badly directed flick. Real-life can appear to be played out that way in the sometimes!

That bit being said...

Inescapable Boredom has always been a trigger for some of my most peevish muses, and sometimes that has landed me in quite hot water!

And whilst dwelling in my Unescapable boredom on this particular evening….

I had noticed the youth, a typical 13-year-old male, with typical, shall we say yearnings, scampering happily about at the reception hall which was our lot to be in on that late night.

And this particular lad’s activities were quite interesting from my admittedly cynical standing point of observation...

But first, please allow me to explain one’s self and reason for being in that quite overly posh venue.

I was one of several fellow professors at the university who had been invited to the son of a female colleague’s nuptials ( in other words, no close relationship to the groom, whom I only had bloody met, once... can anyone say a free gift for the gits?!).

He was marrying a rather affluent young Lass he had hitched up with from Wrexham way, and it was in that city, several hours away, that the couple decided to tie the knot, dragging his family, and us I might add, all along with him to travel there.

Now Wrexham is a nice enough place to visit, but preferring not to waste the whole weekend away from my invitingly stoic stone cottage, its quiet gardens, me pipe, and a snifter of fine old brandy… I had only booked in for an overnighter...

So it twas, that on an early, misting Saturday Morn, our entourage left for the long trog to make it in time for the noon wedding.

We arrived in the city of Wrexham with twenty minutes to spare and began our pleasant wind along with the old Girl’s nostalgic neighborhoods.

There are quite a few fine old churches in Wrexham, and the one where the nuptial ceremonies were to be held was, in my personal opinion, the finest.

The wedding was upscale smashing, starting with the rather gothic Blackstone church decorated like it was a set up for some fancy magazine photo-shoot for an even more posh magazine.

The bride, once she made her appearance, continued on with the opulence, wearing high priced designers, sunglass wincing rhinestone decked, white satin number! While her girls in the bridal wore matching, equally rhinestoned inlaid gowns by the same designer! All were expensively form fitted in flowy bloody-red satin, ’cept the maid of honour, a stunning redhead whose matching gown was of a bewitching midnight black! The groomsmen wore jet black tuxes, the groom wore a white tux and tails, looking like Fred Astaire complete with top hat and cane( but sans rhinestones ) … and indeed there was a bit of a movie like an ambiance hanging over the whole affair!

The reception venue was held at a fancy hall that had been repurposed from an old eel tinning factory. A most interesting venue, with no taint of its former occupant. And with all its most opulent trappings, looked like a stark continuation of the posh photoshoot like the atmosphere of the church, but in this case, set up in an alleyway like ambiance!

So I guess the affair overall was a nice enough bit of eye candy for those of us “privileged” enough to be invited.

I must add, I personally did not feel privileged, but judging by the openly blurted remarks of a gaggling trio of someone’s elderly maiden aunties( not mine thank Lord) we all were supposed to feel that way for being there!

Privileged was certainly not a verb I was going to choose!

Especially seeing that only 4 of us from the group invited from the university made the trip ( the others successfully coming up with valid excuses, the lucky prigs!)

In my tweeds and tie, I was feeling more of being on an isolated island in the stream of gaily dressed guests!

Next Up

Chapter 2

The Sheer Humanity of it all!