Weddings

So my colleague, Chantelle, is getting married which has led me into the previously unchartered territory of wedding magazines.

I was unexpectedly engaged, so to speak, by the pages of whatever upmarket title Chantelle was reading, not to mention the curvaceous broads therein.

Despite only having been to three weddings in my life, my taste in bridal dresses has been much lauded by the ladies of Event towers. I pick good white gown, basically- a skill that would no doubt bring approving nods from The Pope, Gandhi and members of certain redneck racist fraternities.

This affinity for pointing at expensive things and expressing approval, I reason, has been honed by years of reading GQ magazine. The trouble with 'taste', though, is that it's so fleeting and, as Oscar Wilde said "fashion is what one wears oneself".

Face it, guys don't look back at their wedding snaps and say "Thank God my barber put those blonde streaks in my curtains. What a timeless look". Nor do ladies say "Darren, I'm still glad I chose a dress that matched our pastel wallpaper".

If I ever get married- which given my flakey commitment issues, nomadic tendencies and niche haircut- is looking unlikely, I plan to throw taste out of the window. For my big day, I propose (again, pun intended) a fairytale wedding. No, I mean literally a fairytale-themed wedding.

Firstly I would make my hapless bride dress as Snow White (my predilection for brunettes makes this particularly fitting), ordering seven of our shortest male friends to go as Happy, Doc, Grumpy and the gang.

I would basically use the wedding as an excuse to erk my entire extended family before eventually blaming my actions on pre-marital stress. And, what better way to do this, than by assigning them all characters based on their physical traits? The invites would be a joy:

Dear Uncle Nigel,

You're invited to my Fairytale-themed wedding but don't worry I've already hired your suit. Due to your offish stature and excess body hair I've pencilled you in as one of the three bears. Oh, and don't worry about your fibbing, socially awkward son. He'll be going as Pinocchio.

I'm really not big on the whole wedding-thing but, come to think of it, looking out on a church full of reluctant fictional characters, singing Some Day my Prince Will Come would probably be the happiest day of my life.