Gadzooks! A Wedding!

Once again someone has taken leave of their sense and invited me to their wedding, and so off I go on the morrow to London. Do you think that perhaps the groom took a blow to the head at some point? You would think an ex-housemate would have more sense. A wedding! A grand opportunity to watch people be happy and wonder at the great river of life as it continues its irresistible flow through the channels of time. It's probably going to be very reminiscent of 'The Green Death' and 'The Sign Of Three', for those in the know, although at least this time I won't be watching an old infatuation walk up the aisle, thank goodness.

Weddings are never like the clichés you see on television and in films. They're normally quite sedate and polite affairs, unless I'm thankfully missing those kinds of parties where the hijinks occur. They're also just a teensy bit awkward, in the sense of being a passive observer to an event which is being put on for the audience usually or in some cases the overwhelming ego of the bride! Long ago, before giving in to the sheer inevitability of bachelorhood, I always thought a marriage should be an entirely different affair, quite unblended with the law and Church. Being romantic to the core, then and now, and utterly divorced from any possibility of romance, it seemed like the most binding form of partnership would be sworn in total privacy, perhaps on top of a hill by the sea or next to a roaring weir. No artificial bonds bonding people together so that complacency must inevitably set in, but an utterly voluntary union far from the things of humanity. It's a romantic notion still, a freeflowing expression of love untampered with by Church or State.

We are, however, all different and so to London does the Muffin writer dare to go. It's actually a rare opportunity to visit the capital in an unflustered and relaxed manner, not rushing to make a cross-city train connection or zooming off via Tube to make it to the airport on time. It's also a rare opportunity to eschew said Tube and busses completely and traverse the metropolis by foot, actually getting a feel for the place instead of just popping up like a mole and not knowing how it all fits together. Why not walk it, after all, and even indulge in the cliché of getting an 'A to Z'? What an obscure pleasure to weave! The one afternoon of leisure will be spent walking, and trying to get to the Royal Observatory on the - gasp! - other side of the river.

For a very long time, the 'other side of the river' was the 'wrong side of the river', mainly because taxi drivers were wary of making it back in one piece or in timely fashion and because it had fallen into bad times of decay and failure. Now what does 'the wrong side of the river' mean? And will I make it out in one piece to watch the joyous couple get safely wedded and whisk off to their honeymoon? Only time will tell, if it so decided. Meanwhile, it's back to 'Randall And Hopkirk (Deceased)', and hoping this trip doesn't block a day of supply work in places unknown.

It will be nice to see some happy people.

O.