Teepee weddings are ace and Laura and Stephen’s was no exception. Standing in a beautifully decorated tent in the middle of a field in arresting countryside just puts everyone in a good mood. Add to that spending time with your nearest and dearest and sharing the best day of a couple’s life with them and you have the recipe for a really special day.
We are greeted by Laura’s mom, Karen and dad, Clive who warmly welcome us to the Teepee, situated near a farmhouse just outside of Mold, Flintshire. With time to kill we go off in search of a pub to get some grub before we set up but as tradition has it, we get there in the limbo hours before they start serving food, so a crisp buffet will have to do (again).
As Lottie is a masochist, hell-bent on breaking his own body, he decides to travel to North Wales separately from the rest of us in the van, so that he can get some cycling in around the mountains of Snowdonia in the morning. It only occurs to Pete, Greg and I about halfway along the journey that one of us could have still accompanied Lottie in his car for the 3 hour ride.
We were worried that he’d be left alone for too long with his dark thoughts and would turn up in a really angry mood. What we didn’t expect him to say was that he’d been listening to Radio 4 all the way and starts churning out something really intelligent about the history of keys and octaves in music, how they’ve developed through time and the difficulties in composing in the key of F sharp. It’s quite intriguing stuff (especially coming from a drummer) despite the fact that the rest of us haven’t a clue what he’s on about. We all just nod and plough into our crisps.
Perhaps Pete and I could have done with travelling separately as we begin to really get on each other’s nerves. Admittedly, this probably stems from my jealously of him just coming back from New York and I start questioning everything he eats in the van from slices of chicken to packets of olives and sun-dried tomatoes from Waitrose.
Every smack of his lips and each lick of his olive-oil laden fingers feels like a poke to my ribs for some reason. Likewise he questions my choice of music for a playlist I put together for the trip; “This song is TEN MINUTES LONG!” being his cutting review of Fela Kuti’s ‘Water No Get Enemy’.
Playing on stage to ecstatic audiences is 1% of being in a band, the other 99% of the time is spent stomaching your band mates. Still, Pete and I are professionals and place our differences aside to put on the show that everyone is waiting for. We fire up the set and the dance floor erupts with bodies writhing, jumping and twisting through the evening.
At one point two spacehoppers appear amongst the crowd and inevitable races ensue across the floor. Then, to add to the surreality, a step ladder is erected in the centre of the floor where guests take turns to dance at 6 foot above everyone else. I’m guessing there isn’t a health and safety officer on site at this point.
We play until midnight, thoroughly pleased with ourselves and pack up the van to head back to our B&B accommodation for the night. Lottie shoots off at a ridiculous hour after very little sleep (but lots of breakfast) to go ride his bike leaving the rest of us to bicker about what’s on the van stereo on the way back.
Me: “Greg, I’ve got a tune to play you.”
Pete: “You’re not gonna play any more World music are you?”
Me: *Tuts, presses play*