Picture, if you will, a tartan lampshade with two hairy white pipe cleaners hanging from it…
Today I am at my son’s wedding. This post is timed to appear just as the ceremony begins.
Relatives and friends have been arriving for this mighty gathering, which is the current reason why you haven’t heard much from me in the last day or so.The other reason, the darker one, takes a back seat for the day.
I decided not to post any wedding photos, unless there are some really incredibly funny ones, as it wouldn’t be fair on the other guests. There might be some who have strong objections to being splashed all over the internet and I am not going to get a signed release form from every single one of them. So no wedding photos here.
Anyway, they’d take some time to come back as my son and his wife-in-half-an-hour-from-now will be heading for honeymoon on Monday. Unfortunately they have chosen to go to Greece but then, like father like son…
At least he can’t get blamed for the collapse of his honeymoon country. “It was like that when I got there” will be his response in future.
My honeymoon was in Yugoslavia, when it was still intact and peaceful 😉
Nevertheless, I promised photos of a kilted Underdog and photos you shall have. This is my first time in a kilt so have your barf bags ready, put the children in front of the TV and remove all easily-horrified pets, spouses and maiden aunts from the room before proceeding further.
I am in full Scottish regalia, including the traditional dour expression, in the pic that is to follow.
(Clicking photos should make them bigger. You have been warned)
This was the first try-on of my hired wedding dress. Some bits will need adjustment tomorrow before finally heading to the wedding. Especially the sporran. Those things are heavier than I expected even when void of whisky and cigarettes. Scottish dancing is energetic and a bit mad and having that thing repeatedly pounding the wrong bits could bring tears to even an underdog eye.
I didn’t get issued with a real sgian-dubh, just a dummy one. I suspect my son had a hand in that as he has also decided I won’t give a speech and has vetoed every single one of my hats. I am also not allowed a claymore, which I consider a natural part of Scottish national dress. Well, I suppose I can be thankful I didn’t raise a gullible idiot.
The picture above will be, after fine-tuning, how I will appear at my son’s wedding.
The picture below is how I would like to have appeared. As a battle-ready underdog.
By the time you finish reading this my son will be married or very close to it. I wish him and his new bride well and hope it turns out so much better than my one attempt at this.
t coul hardly turn out worse…