Perhaps, as a relic of a terrible acne, I was always too shy until my 30s to dream of being a bride, to be the center of everyone’s gaze for a whole day. The very idea got me out in beehives.
My partner, Ben, knew of my shyness (“And yet you are not… silent”) and so the suggestion when he came was: “Look, we can just do it at a registry office on a Monday morning if necessary. Two witnesses, then we’ll all go to the bar. It’s going to be like a 1950s wedding! ” I said yes.
While I’m shy, I like a party. It was my idea to combine our wedding with my upcoming big birthday in April. We’d secretly get married in the morning and then just announce it at the party. The genius of my idea was that instead of making a speech, I just put my hand up and blushed pretty nicely. Everyone would cheer.
“But if you get married, however discreetly,” said Ben, “and then have a big party, isn’t that a big wedding?” So we would have to invite your family, including Aunt Delma, everyone from Ireland and my family… ”From that moment on, it was like trying to stir the coffee. And now our new plan looked like this: registry office for 16 people; Lunch – chic – for 30 close family members and friends; Free for everyone in our local pub (capacity 120). Everyone said yes to the pub. (Oh, gawd …) Then Ben kept forgetting who was involved in the mystery. People wanted to fly in from Australia, Dublin, New York. We’d need a wedding cake (Roger would make it); Live music (an Irish violin band has been booked); a DJ (“Don’t mess around with playlists …”); a wedding photographer (please God, no); Children’s entertainment … I had created a hybrid monster, neither wedding nor fun.
And then the pandemic. I spent my birthday at Zoom – can I say relieved? – Ben coughed weakly on the sofa, a situation that lasted for a few months. But aside from Ben’s (very) long Covid – he thinks he had it three times – we had a good lockdown. But it has something to do with not knowing what’s around the curve when everything is spinning around the curve, which is what keeps your mind focused, and we realized that we really loved each other and wanted to get married. (Before Ben got Covid a fourth time.)
August 15th: The most romantic email of my life asking if I would like to get married. The Chelsea Register Office received a notice of termination on September 24th at 10:40 a.m. His smallest room; four guests (masked); Hand disinfection before and after replacing rings; Music from your own telephones, operated by yourself; no singing (droplets). Reader, I have given my consent. My family would be stranded in Ireland; Ben’s mother, 83, shields; The rules changed daily and practically no one could come, but we had to make the most of it.
September 24th, wedding Mk III? Instead of the predicted drizzle, the day is warm and sunny. Charlotte, my honorary matron, does my make-up from a YouTube video. Kiki, our long-time tenant, but also a top stylist, does my hair. On King’s Road there is the perfect café to meet our (four) guests, but then other friends come to stand outside. We are all amazed to be dressed together in the sunshine. Inside, our officers Anne and Lawrence sound warm behind visors and masks. Trying to be smart and avoid using the phone, Ben asked a guest to bring a guitar to strum gently.
The service is very sweet and brief. I keep giggling at the masks. And then something I did not expect: We are allowed to go through the steps of the town hall in front of the front door. Confetti can be thrown. Ben and I are held back, and when we show up, our guitarist starts an exuberant version of Van Morrison’s Marie’s wedding. Everyone is singing, Kiki hijacked by throwing confetti, people cry. It’s such a scene, passers-by stop, delivery vans scream, bus passengers wave and thumbs up, someone across the street is taking photos. We’re all starved of joy for so long that it just breaks out.
Then we have Guinness on the pub terrace (tables for six) near our house. Then lunch at the Covid-safe Chez Bruce in a private room (14). It’s all effortlessly chic, fun, and tasty, and Bruce tells us to make as much noise as we want.
The rest of the day was perfect. I even gave a speech. You’re trying to have a small, discreet wedding and of course everything goes well in a pandemic.
Mr. and Mrs. Brewster
The winter micro wedding
Emily, 30, and Tom, 31, were due to get married in May 2020 at Wyresdale Park in Lancashire
