Weddings. Can’t stand ’em. But that’s got nothing to do with any religious, spiritual or moral concerns.
If you want God’s blessing, then good luck to you.
No, what I hate about the ceremony are its social mores, the chavvy carnations, the soft-focus photographs, and all those speeches and readings.
Still, from time to time, a wedding comes along which turns out to be the exception that proves the rule.
And this was certainly the case a few weeks ago when I attended a welder’s wedding.
He, the groom, was a welder, which meant all his friends and colleagues were welders too.
Welding, for those of you unfamilar with the skill, is the joining by fusion of one piece of metal to another via an electric arc (and how Jennifer Beals earned her living in Flashdance).
It’s not particularly romantic, and only occasionally can it ever be called creative (for instance, artists who work with metal, weld).
Nevertheless, that didn’t stop grown men from wiping their eyes during the course of the wedding, so strong were their ties to the discipline.
Indeed, it almost caused a fight...
First off, the wedding party welders each brought their own welding guns to form a welding guard of honour during the service.
I, naturally, laughed thinking this was a joke, but a firm elbow in the ribs from a fellow guest quickly dispelled this notion.
Then later, during the meal, the bridegroom’s welding teacher read a solemn poem he had written on how welding and marriage were so similar.
Afterwards, and once the tears had dried around me, I asked the person on my left, a close friend of the groom, what he had thought of the recital.
My big beaming stupid face said: ‘That was awful. Is that man on drugs?’ But he said (word for word): “That was wonderful, don’t you think? Truly lovely. My wife says there are two women in our marriage. Her and... my welding.”
To which I couldn’t resist adding: “So she’s a welding widow?”
“No, we’ve been together 18 years now but she knows that when you see that arc of blue light, well, that changes everything. It gives you a focus, a meaning, and so yes, I do work hard, but my welding grants us a very comfortable life.”
Oh.
“Do you weld at home?”
“I’d weld all day if I could.”
“Did you weld your bed then?”
“No. It’s made of wood. Are you trying to make fun of me?”
Well, would you care to answer on my behalf?
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