Nup-date

Well, yesterday the family and I headed into town later in the afternoon to get me and my best man Greig suited and booted for the forthcoming nuptials. It wasn't my choice to head in at that time of day, I hate how busy centres of rampant consumerism can get at a weekend, and Newcastle certainly didn't disappoint. The place was heaving.

I feel that it is also worth noting that the family and I actually made our merry way into town on the public pauper truck, or an Arriva bus as most normal people would call it. In the past I would always have taken the car and paid for parking. However, thanks to the advent of cheaper competition, Arriva set their return prices back by over £1.50 and so the economical balance of this resulted in us choosing to take the bus at a total cost of only £6.00. Surely all public transport should look to offer the kind of affordable fares that at least challenge us all to think "Well, it would be just as cheap to take the bus" rather than the meagre concessions that always seem to weight us towards deciding that our cars would be quicker?

Anyway, we met up with Greig and his brood and made a beeline for Greenwood's Menswear in order to meet our 3 o' clock appointment. The gentleman assisting us with our choices of wedding day sartorial splendour was a most amiable fellow. However, I was slightly taken aback by his constant personal amusement at Greig's and my willingness to allow my good lady to make all the decisions. Not having been married before, I began to wonder exactly how many other chaps actually went along to choose their wedding garments without instruction or approval of their soon to be other halves.

I certainly can't think of anyone that I know that wasn't happy for their wives in waiting to simply organise almost every facet of their wedding day. I suppose a few may have made an occasional objection to certain sartorial suggestions and the like but not one of them outrightly had any real say or involvement. And as all males know, organising the wedding day is largely the preserve of the woman as apparently she has been planning it since she was approximately four years old... possibly younger.

This irksome detail aside, the choosing of our outfits went smoothly thanks to the amiability of all parties concerned. As it turned out, the get up we actually ended up ordering was almost item for item exactly the same as an outfit displayed in the wedding brochure. So it would seem that we are simply mindless, easily influenced fools, but I'm sure we'll look dapper enough on the day. Also, Greig may as well have not bothered turning up to be fitted, as, by pure coincidence, it appears that we are almost exactly the same size and shape, right down to our collar size. Sadly, I'll have to put this fact down to Greig letting himself go a bit and subjecting his waist size to an extra beer or twelve here and there. And as an added bonus, it means that even if we get our togs mixed up on the day, it won't matter a jot.

What with the acquiring the suits I almost feel my contribution to the big day is over. No bad thing in my book really. I'm happy to let the missus crack on and sort it all out, and she seems largely happy to do so. So everyone's a winner there then.