Читать книгу Best Day of My Life: True stories to inspire, move and entertain - Told by a cross-section of the UK's celebrities and courageous everyday people - Giles Vickers Jones - Страница 15
Оглавление7 a.m., 29 July 2006
‘We’re goin’ to the chapel and we’re gonna get ma-a-a-rried’ belts out Bette Midler FULL BLAST from the CD player. Thanks, husband-to-be Phil. I met Phil 18 years ago on a street corner in Islington. I was on my way out to a club and he was on his way home after work. It could so easily have been ships that pass in the night, but instead it was love at first sight and we’ve been together ever since.
As I try to force my eyes open, I realise that staying out until 1 a.m. the night before my civil-partnership ceremony wasn’t such a bright idea. Mind you, the very faint hint of a hangover is a small price to pay for the memories that come flooding back. Did I really get a cuddle down a dark alley from Hollywood star Juliette Lewis as we posed for a picture taken by my friend and partner in crime Gary Irwin? Yep.
‘Gee, that’s so cool that two guys can get married over here,’ Juliette gushed enthusiastically in response to Gary randomly ambushing her outside a theatre with: ‘Oi, Juliette, this is my mate Dolly [Gary thinks I’m a bit like Dolly Parton]. He’s getting married to his boyfriend in the morning.’
Actually, that’s the only concrete memory that comes flooding back. The rest is a bit of a blur, but included me and Gary crowing, ‘I’m/He’s getting married in the morning, ding dong the bells are gonna chime, etc. etc. etc.’ on a bar crawl around our favourite Soho haunts. ‘Just one quick drink’ after work always ends up in the same places. There is also a vague recollection of me and Gary doing our show-stopping ‘catch dance’ to great critical acclaim in our favourite club, The Shadow Lounge. Think the final ‘no one puts Baby in the corner’ routine from Dirty Dancing. Then substitute me and Gary (you need to visualise two lightweight, nimble and highly lovable sumo wrestlers) for Patrick Swayze and Baby and cut out the difficult manoeuvres. You’ve got to see it to believe it.
I finally drag myself out of bed, get ready and then get really nervous. But why am I so nervous? After all, all I have to do is say my vows in front of ‘bridesmaid’ Vicky, her boyfriend Sean and our other witnesses, Chris and Graham, also known as the African Queens (they’re from Zimbabwe originally). And, of course, civil partner-to-be, Phil. I’ve known Vicky since we worked together in what could have been difficult circumstances at Now magazine, but which has turned out to be an enduring and close friendship. Vicky is five feet tall and very loud. Except for when she goes silent and gives an absolutely terrifying, frosty glare known as ‘The Lewisham Look’. I trust her with my life and we’re a great double act. I am so proud even now to introduce Vicky as ‘my bridesmaid’ and it makes me laugh when I think of the overtones such an introduction carries of Dame Edna and her bridesmaid Madge.
And surely the thought of saying my piece in front of Chris and Graham, who’ve been friends for over 15 years, isn’t causing my apprehension?
No, the reason I’m nervous, aside from the inherent fear I have of officialdom and legal procedures, is because of a certain Andrew Saxton’s threat of turning up to demonstrate outside the ceremony with a huge ‘NO GAYS’ placard. I have to say at this point that Andrew is one of my heroes and best friends. He’s a talented journalist who for many years has fought the long, hard battle for equality. In case you for just one second think he sounds a bit dull and worthy, the best way to describe him is as a one-man whirlwind. There’s always a commotion around him – and somehow riotous things just seem to happen in his presence. You couldn’t hope to sing karaoke or go on a demo with a finer fella at your side.
He’s also one of those people who are slightly dangerously unpredictable – a bit like a nutter on a train. So, despite his being one of the most right-on people on this planet, there is a minuscule chance of him turning up with the aforementioned placard as his excuse for a joke. He knows it would make me shriek with laughter and cringe with embarrassment in equal measure.
After a champagne breakfast at the Covent Garden Hotel with our small party, it’s off to Camden registry office, feeling much calmer after the alcohol! The service is short, but full of emotion – the significance of two men legally tying the knot isn’t lost on any of us. Nor is the double entendre/gaffe by the registrar in talking about ‘taking each other’s rings’.
Ceremony over, certificate issued, legally joined in partnership for ever, it just remains to be seen if the one-man whirlwind is waiting outside. Dread, panic and fear start to raise my heart rate.
But a cursory look outside the building reveals there is no Andrew – and no bloody placard. Phew! But, instead, there are another couple of friends – Annie and Stephen, who’ve turned up guerrilla-ambush style armed with champagne as a surprise. Andrew with his menacing placard, or Annie and Stephen with champagne? There’s no contest for who is the more welcome. Panic finally over.
So, following the traditional photos on the steps and fortified by more alcohol, it’s off to the bar at the Dorchester for yet more drinks before lunch. By the time we’re ready for lunch at J. Sheekey, our merry band is very merry. The whole afternoon passes in a very leisurely and relaxed way, until the time comes to make a move back to our place. For more champagne and more chat. I’m sure weddings aren’t supposed to be quite so relaxed and stress-free. The only stressful moment – the threat of Andrew and his placard aside – is when a narky neighbour moans on about something or other. If Sean ever needed a badge of honour, he earns it by getting in the lift with a potentially explosive combination of the moaning neighbour and a very irate Phil!
The day is so perfect that we feel a bit guilty for not having had all of our friends and family there to celebrate with us. Fast forward to the ‘reception’ on 2 December 2006.
But that’s another story …
