My Corona

A wedding invitation arrived in the mail a couple of weeks ago.

That's the thing about moving to the other side of Australia to be near Brad the Tradie's peeps. Suddenly there's a lot to be involved in. Mostly so far it's been poker tournaments, birthdays, the odd family barbecue and school reunion.

But this weekend heralded our first west coast wedding.

 As the 'plus-one', these kind of shindigs are right up my alley. Having met the groom thrice now (and the bride not at all) my responsibilities at the wedding are quite clearly outlined in our culture.... eat, drink and be merry. And who was I to argue.

The wedding we attended on Sunday was held in a Catholic Church. If I wasn't so agnostic I'm sure I would've heard God grumbling with distaste at the way people interpreted the term 'smart-casual'. I was assured by my VGF Organica that pants and sensible shoes were suitable given that the reception was of the backyard variety. However, I think that some guests took a few too many 'smart-casual' liberties. I counted six pairs of leggings, a Goth ensemble (complete with corset) and several too many polyester/Lycra dresses that entered this world as shirts or swimwear. When one of the best dressed is the Page-Dog, you know they should've avoided the word Casual at all on the invitation.

Being brought up by Heathens and wolves, our teenager (who tastefully avoided animal print and black lace when dressing) was dreadfully excited at seeing the inside of a Catholic Church. I felt sooooo proud when she commented, "I haven't done this much...should I spit my gum out here into the garden or do you think there's bins inside?" Dear God, forgive us agnostic Bogans, for we have binned... I mean... sinned.

I used to be a wedding singer.

Once upon a time, long, long ago people paid me (in green hundred dollar bills) to turn up at their ceremony and belt out a pretty tune. I used to loathe the Catholic ones. The nuptial mass comes with a booklet in Latin and headache pills. I did a few Italian Roman Catholic weddings where I really couldn't understand a thing and had to rely on the pianist staying awake and being cued by the priest. One couple begged me to learn the love theme from The Godfather and wanted it sung in haunting tones whilst they signed the register. Freaky much. And I charged extra in case I was struck down by lightening on my way out of Saint Christopher's.

Meanwhile, back at the no-ties weddin', we were delighted to discover that having a reception in a backyard means that the couple can buy whatever drinks they feel like. And quite frankly, I agree whole-heartedly with whoever chose the Margaret River Cab Merlot as table wine. Was thinking of having a beer until I realized I don't have a bottle opener on my keyring, but nevertheless there were a few partygoers singing My Corona for the evening (mental note re keyring... shall be better prepared next time) and when there's eskies full of free Corona, you can be guaranteed people are gonna show. With no bar rules (help yourself!)  no frills and enough plastic portaloos, we Bogans from far and wide just tucked in.

I love informality.  

With no speeches, no waltz, no cake, no 'chicken or fish', and a good 80's soundtrack from the bride's ipod, we were all fairly sloshed by eight o'clock. I managed to impress with my ability to construct a dinosaur sculpture from wine corks, skewers and used canape sticks. I met a new friend called Sue, whose flannelette jacket I was quite taken with, and it turned out that she's married to Brian who stayed at our house in Canberra years ago during Summernats. The Goth joined our group and commented that she hasn't met me in a couple of hundred years (uhuh...) and I learned all about corsetry and how to dye a bright red stripe into my hair.

Margie River Red does soak up a bit of harm food-wise.

After a few rounds of canapés, pizza and profiteroles I was a little dyspeptic, however, the wine was terribly good, so I pocketed a bottle into my handbag (carry-all type, not posh-hold-a-lippie type). I did ask BtT to check if the guest-gift was a whole case...

Not since the sixties have backyard weddings been so popular. Is it the GFC? A new 'bugger it, we can do it ourselves' attitude? I'm not sure how much a traditional wedding costs anymore, but I believe it's a LOT. And, unlike the First Home Buyers Scheme, the government doesn't give any form of rebate for weddin's. So, I'm up there with the DIY wedding. BtT and I are both agnostic and also not terribly into pomp n tromp, so we eloped to a Queensland beach, and consequently I'm not a terribly good example of how to hold a traditional wedding.

So here's my thing.

I reckon Jool-ya could move this whole ummm.... Movement.... Forward by having a backyard weddin' herself. Dontcha think it'd be noice? We could hold it in the backyard at the Lodge or just in the grounds of the Rooty Hill RSL perhaps. A few sausage rolls, some little boys with sauce (she likes eating children) and a noice croquenbouche like the ones they make on Masterchef. Everyone could come, especially the Greens. Yes, I think a Wine Weddin' could distract nicely from nasty matters like Carbon Tax thingies. A few boat children could even sing 'I Still Call Oz-tray-lyahhhh Home' before being packed off to Malaysia. The First Bloke needn't wear a tie and Jools could just don an ugly pantsuit from her fortnightly rotational wardrobe. Yes, I think I'll suggest it to her.

I know where she can get a nice red. And I'll make sure guests are told to bring their own bottle-opener for the Corona.

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My Sharona, The Knack, 1979.