A Proper London Wedding

The point of our last trip to London was not actually, to waste three perfectly good days, but to attend the wedding of two friends who met at a wedding back in the States. At the time, the groom lived in London and the bride in New York, and so began a whirlwind, short long-distance romance. Does that make sense? Anyway, when you know you know and soon they were engaged.I crossed my fingers and hoped that they would marry in London instead of New York or New Jersey, where most of their family and friends were so I could go around saying, “Oh we’re going to London for a wedding” and sound really cool (because, as we all know, worldliness is often measured by where one’s friends get hitched. This coming from someone who once walked Bellagio in Las Vegas and said, “Oh I could see myself getting married here.”)

Anyway, they got married in London and we were there and I have pictures to prove it!

Waiting to get on the tube in our wedding finery. And a nice Japanese lady in her everyday Japanese kimono.
Inside of St. Giles-Without-Cripplegate in Barbican. I wonder where St. Giles With Cripplegate is.
I love meeting interesting men at weddings.

On our way from the Church to the reception hall, we could see remnants of London Wall, blitzed during World War II.
Tom, posing outside Ironmonger’s Hall, where the reception was held, was excited for cake and champagne.
I and the rest of the Americans were like, “Holy moly” and the Brits were all, “Meh.”
Lots of old guys named Thomas and William hung around the guests.
The music! So cool. George Washington (or someone who looked a lot like him) enjoyed it also.
The bride and groom hand wrote each guest a postcard with a classic book cover printed on it. This was mine. Fitting for a writer who was recently fired.
This was Tom’s.
I loved this idea: the guests could write postcards of their own to the bride and groom.
Friends and family came from all over the world.
We sat across from real British people, which was quite exciting.
Tom’s butterscotch apple tart, which I ate most of. Whoever says British food is bland has never had this tart.
The bridesmaids chat up the handsome piano man.
More old dudes named Thomas and William frowning upon the crowd as the dancing and drinking picked up.
The very British front desk man, who steadily read the paper that whole day, from 2-11PM.

Also: How to Waste 3 Perfectly Good Days in LondonThom’s Thursday Thoughts on London and London Memories.

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