Weddings, who’d have one?

Well, of course, I will be soon! However, what I won’t be doing is having a wedding at which no one speaks to one another, people don’t mingle and mix, the service lasts for hours and there are not enough seats for all the guests to sit inside.

These are just some of the things that went wrong at the wedding I attended this weekend just gone. But, it doesn’t stop there.

The hotel (if it can really be called that) was just awful. When we arrived the bar was quiet with only a few locals sitting supping their pints of ale. Soon, though, this man appeared and began to set up a small screen and a loud amplifier. He then proceeded to shout at us to place bets (he had an Irish accent I think was put on) while making misogynistic comments and generally being annoying.

We were then played this awful video of pig racing and the winner received 50% of the bets, while the other 50% went to a local charity. It cost one pound per bet. The most anyone could have won was their stake: one single, solitary quid. Consequently, not many people were interested in playing and the event took off like a lead balloon.

So, up to our room. This had cost us £60. Yes, it was stocked well with tea and coffee, but that was about it. It didn’t appear that anyone had vacuumed the room for at least a decade, there were pubic hairs on the loo (I’m not ginger, they definitely weren’t mine) and the noise from the bar was so loud that I thought the window was open.

Anyway, we thought that it would all be quiet by the time we came back from the evening session at the wedding. How wrong we were.

No one – and I mean no one – bothered to speak to us; if we spoke to them they just stared at us blankly. I reckoned this was because I wasn’t in black tie (I hadn’t seen the invite), but mostly it was because we came from London (a city) and the man getting married was a farmer (as were his friends). They called us townies.

Idiots.

I grew up in the country; my best friend was a farmer’s son; I lived one hundred yards from a farm for 15 years; I could go on with this list, but I won’t bore you with it. I just want to highlight how people have perceptions of others and are completely wrong. I tried to get in with people, but I can only be stared at blankly for so long before I can’t take anymore.

There was this particular woman, with six chins, that just couldn’t stop staring. When asked why she was staring, she wobbled her chins and looked at the floor. Not a single word escaped her lips!

This meant that we left shortly after the meal and returned to the hotel.

It was there that we discovered the room underneath ours was the site of a disco and karaoke night. It went on until 2am. This in a sleepy village in Wiltshire, near Stonehenge.

After little sleep we got up and went for our breakfast. Now, I don’t eat much in the morning, it doesn’t agree with me until at least an hour after I’ve woken up. I decided that toast was a safe option. However, the toast was cold and like cardboard. In short, it was disgusting.

If you’re ever in Amesbury, don’t, whatever you do, stay at the St George Hotel. It’s abysmal and should be shut down. Basil Fawlty ran a successful business compared to this.

It was singularly the worst wedding and weekend away I’ve had in a long time. One I never want to repeat.

If someone you know from way back is getting married, ask yourself this: do they know me and my life and do I know theirs? If the answer is no, politely decline the invitation and stay at home. I’ve learned my lesson.

purplesimon out...