It was about this time, near midnight, exactly 11 years ago, that my friend Heather set down her drink and yelled over the music: "We need to make cakes".
"Nah," I yelled back, "It's too late. We don't really need cakes. Nobody really needs cakes. It will be fine. Have some more wine."
"NO", she yelled. "Every wedding needs a cake. C'mon. We can do it."
And so we did. Two very squiffy women headed into the kitchen and proceeded, in the early hours of the morning, to turn out two truly fantastic lemon coconut layer cakes without injury or burning down the house. It was a miracle. We were really quite drunk. There was lots to celebrate, getting married and all.
Neal and I got married in a registry office with just us and our witnesses, then went for a bang up lunch with some of our closest people. More friends arrived throughout the day culminating in an adhoc gathering in the evening, and a wedding party the next day.
We only got married for the paperwork, and a bit of me still resents it - I don't see why it is any business of the state whom I choose to live with. There are other ways to regulate property and taxation. Never mind the issues around who and who can't "get married". In the end we figured if we had to go through with the motions we might as well get a party out of it.
Despite my almost complete ambivalence about it all - when I look back, I remember the laughter - ordering two of every dessert on the menu and everyone eating a bite and passing them around in a giant round robin of pudding. I remember the sunbeams shining on Neal and his Uncle Laurie at the table. I remember the beautiful buffet James and Heather made the next day, and our dog, Humphrey, nearly snagging an entire wheel of brie before we realised he'd been let out.
But most of all, tonight, I remember the drunk baking. You can get through life all right with friends like that.
