Flower power

Apparently it's tradition for something to go wrong at weddings.  It's almost considered a good luck charm in itself for everything not to run perfectly.  Whether you trip face-first into your cake, drop your wedding ring down a gutter or get left standing like a lemon at the altar, I am assured these are all good omens for a long and happy life together (perhaps barring that last one).

Thankfully something went wrong on our wedding day.  It was perhaps par for the course - trying to organise a wedding on another continent, with guests travelling from quite literally round the globe, it was probably odds-on that something wouldn't be perfect.

It was the flowers.

Now, as you know, I'm no Bridezilla, and actually we almost decided not to bother with flowers at all.  I just wanted something to do with my hands during the ceremony.  So after a certain amount of research, I chose the calla lily for my bridal bouquet.  In addition to being simple, it was also native to South Africa.  Score!  Lorna - best wedding planner ever - liaised with various florists in Port Elizabeth, and sent them the following photo, along with others just like it, to check they'd be happy to recreate the arrangement for the big day.

To cut a long story short, we were warned that, yes, whilst it was native to South Africa, it was actually out of season in March, so we wouldn't know for sure two weeks until the wedding whether they'd be able to get calla lilies.  This was disappointing, but not the end of the world, and I chose some back-up St Joseph's lilies in case the florist - Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth, weren't able to get them.

A week before the wedding we were told - yay - they could get calla lilies, but they would be "off white".  I asked what this meant, but again, they wouldn't know until they saw them.  I wasn't that bothered.  Any colour between white and yellow would be fine.  Petals Florist then said the flowers would be more expensive than the original quotation because they'd have to get them in from Johannesburg.  Fine.  We agreed to pay the extra.  They asked if we could pick them up on the Friday before the wedding - but as the wedding wasn't until the Saturday afternoon, we pushed back on this.  They eventually agreed we could pick them up on the Saturday morning.

Fast forward ahead one week and it's the day of the wedding!  Unbeknownst to me, Lorna had been called by Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth on the Friday and told she had to pick them up that day because they were renovating on the Saturday.  Reluctantly, she did so and put the flowers in a cool place in water, as she was instructed to do.

Basically by the time they arrived to me, the flowers were a disaster.  I was happy to go ahead with them initially - until I saw the faces of everyone I showed them to.  I'm not a proper girl, but my hairdresser's expression of shock and horror convinced me we couldn't use them.

The petals were curled and brown along the edges.  The flowers hadn't opened properly.  Worst of all, one of the buttonholes had a very large pen mark right down the centre of the blossom!  You can click on the photos to see them full size.  Unfortunately we didn't get a picture of the buttonholes, but you can imagine the quality.

We were really lucky that the lodge we held the wedding at - Hitgeheim - were amazing.  "We'll make a plan," said the owner, Archie, using his favourite expression.

Within an hour, and at no extra cost, they pulled together my bridal bouquet, using a native protea, which looked amazing (if that doesn't sound too smug).

So, disaster averted.  However, Lorna had paid for the terrible bouquet from Petals Florist.  So she wrote a nicely-worded email of complaint a few weeks after the wedding, enclosing the photographs as evidence of poor quality.

They didn't even do her the justice of replying.

So, Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth, South Africa - consider this your first online review.  Which will stay online, and - as I notice you don't yet have a website - will probably be the first hit on Google when anyone types in "Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth" or "Petals Florist Wedding Bouquet" or even possibly "Petals Florist".  Also - although you may not know what this is - I used to work in Search Engine Optimisation.  So by repeating Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth lots of times, and sneaking in phrases like "terrible quality", "rip off" and "appalling customer service", this page should get lots of hits.  As an extra service for free, I'm willing to throw in a monthly report for you - how many people have found this site by searching on "Petals Florist".  I'm nice like that.

So good luck with that.

By the way, Petals Florist in Port Elizabeth, I will take this review down any time you decide to refund Lorna for the very bad bridal bouquet and apologise for not replying to her earlier email. Your choice.

Cape Ape Escape

We had had a great time on safari so far.  Sofari so good.  Sorry, that was poor.  We had seen elephants, zebra, more buck than you can shake a stick at (and buck really hate it when you shake sticks at them) and we had seen tortoises and dung beetles and hippo.

But we hadn't seen baboons.

So off to Cape Point TheBloke (TM) and I went, to drive round their game park which promised, amongst other exciting wildlife, baboons.  Summary of the game we saw at Cape Point:

1. One poorly-looking buck
2. A stripy mouse (click on picture to enlarge)

Somewhat dispirited, we left the game park and started driving back towards our accommodation.

Suddenly, on the road ahead of us, we saw baboons!  Baboons!  And not just any baboons, one baboon quite clearly wanking off another baboon.  Now, anyone who knows anything about nature documentaries knows it's a cardinal sin not to get some photos of baboons wanking each other off.  So TheBloke (TM) pulled over.

Some tourists were going right up to the baboons - we knew this was dangerous, so at this stage we stayed in our car.  Unfortunately at this point, the baboons stopped wanking (maybe performance anxiety?).  Still, from the comfort of the car, we got these photos:

It was at this point, I thought I'd get out of the car and take some more photos.  Now, I'm no stupid tourist.  I was sure to keep at least fifteen metres between myself and the baboons, and to keep my back to the cliff, to be sure none would jump up behind me.  They are intelligent creatures and have massive, massive teeth.  They are strong too, so you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of one.

So out of the car I hopped, taking the camera with me.  TheBloke (TM) stayed in the car.  After a while, he shouted over to me and pointed out the baby baboon (pictured above) heading towards me.  I smiled, took a blurry photo, and headed back towards the wanking baboons.  That would make a much better picture.

What I didn't realise is TheBloke (TM) was actually warning me that if the baby was close, the mother might get protective and attack me.  I blithely continued taking photos of baboons, which were no longer wanking, but were still behaving amusingly.

At this point TheBloke (TM) (whom I hadn't heard shouting) decided he had to come and rescue his new bride, so he got out of the car.

As he shut the car door behind him, the mother baboon (pictured above with baby), after having sent her baby towards me as a diversionary tactic, jumped through the open car window and got into our car.

Fuck.

This is the best photo I have.

 It's not very clear, but you can see the baboon in the back seat of our car, lifting up the parcel shelf.

TheBloke (TM) took advice from a tour guide who was nearby (plus a bus load of tourists who thought this was hilarious) and opened the car doors.  

He went to the passenger side of the car and saw the baboon in the footwell, going through my handbag.  Out came my credit cards, my iPhone, the sat nav.  TheBloke (TM) banged hard on the passenger window to startle the baboon.  She looked up, glanced at him... and continued her business of checking out my Tower Hamlets library card.  Tourists continued taking video footage.  I don't doubt that we're a top hit on YouTube by now.  Personally, I was too freaked out by the whole thing at the time to take good footage.  This is why I'm not a famous nature documentary-maker.

Eventually a baboon monitor with a large knobkerrie came and threatened the baboon.  He didn't hit her, but he waved his stick around a bit, and the baboon jumped out of the car.

Thankfully, my handbag, although ransacked, was intact and nothing was taken.  We had no food in the car, which I think helped.  And importantly, it didn't poo everywhere.  I wish I could say the same for TheBloke (TM). 

Clever things though - she'd been through the glove compartment, the boot and unzipped my handbag, looking for food.   Not that clever though; if she'd been brighter, she could have traded my iPhone for a Big Mac at the very least.

Floral language

Well, Ploggers, I can only apologise for yet another absence.  It seems multitasking work and Plogging is a skill I need to work on since returning from holiday.  Either that, or being married is far more time-consuming than being single.  I'll let you know.

Anyway, more honeymoon stories for you.  Today I am going to tell you about the romantic night we spent at Shamwari.  Shamwari is apparently the place to go to in the Eastern Cape for safari.  All the film stars go there.  Of course, it was massively out of our price range, but TheBloke (TM)'s sister works there (why do you think I married him?) so we were in!

Because TheBloke (TM)'s sister is much nicer than TheBloke (TM), she arranged for complimentary Champagne to be delivered to our room.  So when we returned from our evening game drive, our room looked like this:

Our bed had been lovingly scattered with fresh blossoms, arranged in rows of two different colours.  Our pillows had a single blossom on each, and there was a bottle of chilled Champagne, with a congratulations note from Rippons Lodge, where we were staying.  It was so romantic.  The Bloke (TM) lit some candles, and took a bath together with a glass of bubbly each.  It was a fantastic way to relax after a game drive where we'd seen warthogs play, zebras canter and lions on the prowl for their evening meal.

I needed to wash my hair, so TheBloke (TM) got out of the bath and toddled off to put on his manly, manly clothes.  Suddenly I heard a giggle from him.  I knew it was his giggle because he was the only other person in the hotel suite.  However, had I not known this, I would have guessed it was the giggle of a nine year-old schoolgirl.

"What?"  I called from the bath.

"Nothing," he called back, giggling again and thus giving himself away.

"What?!" I asked.

"I just thought of something."

"What?"  I am nothing if not repetitive.

"Nothing," TheBloke (TM) giggled.

TheBloke (TM) would not be drawn, and instead I just heard a lot more giggling, and then - worryingly - the sound of him taking photos.

I got out of the bath, wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and went to see what fresh naughtiness he was up to.  This is the sight that greeted me:

Who said the romance dies when you get married?

Fudging the answer

So, we had agreed on a God-free ceremony.  We had told him eight or nine times that we wanted a civil ceremony.

"Yes, yes," Reverend Sillymoustache agreed.  "I learned about all this when I did my exams.  We learned all sorts of strange things like civil ceremonies, and Lobola."

TheBloke (TM) rolled his eyes.  I had no idea what a Lobola is.

Reverend Sillymoustache was keen to fill me in, "It's a bit like a civil ceremony except your fiancé must agree how much to pay your father for you."  (For dedicated enthusaists, more information can be found here.)

"Yes, yes, our wedding is very much like that.  Except I'm not being bought by a man."

The irony was lost on Reverend Sillymoustache.

I continued, "Can I ask - out of interest - whether you've actually conducted a civil ceremony previously?"

"Oh yes," said Reverend Sillymoustache.  "Just six months ago I married a Methodist to a Baptist."

Oh dear imaginary God.

The Reverend Sillymoustache continued, "Can I ask you a personal question; what do you believe?"

Before TheBloke (TM) replied, I butted in, trying to keep my tone light, "If we get into this discussion, are you going to refuse to marry us?"

"No, no", reassured Reverend Sillymoustache.  "I'm just interested.  I have never met an atheist before."

"Well," I said, "I believe that people are generally good, that the time we have here is all we're going to get, and so we should all make the most of it."

"So you don't believe in the reunion of family after you're dead?"

"No," I said.  "In fact, if you remarried after your partner has passed away, wouldn't it all be a bit awkward when you met up in heaven?"

He ignored my question.  "So where do you believe we came from?"

TheBloke (TM) said, "Well, we believe in evolution."

The Reverend Sillymoustache looked shocked.  "What, like Darwin?"

"Yes."

"How do you know right from wrong?" he asked.  "God's voice tells us this.  "So," said the Reverend, "let me ask you this.  When you see a vettie, sorry Laura, that is Afrikaans for a fat person..."

(No shit, Sherlock, it's pronounced "fattie".)

"... When you see a big vettie walking down the street, and you klap them round the head and shout 'hey vettie', what makes you feel bad about that?"

"Erm," I said, "I tend not to hit fat people in the street.  Is the only reason you don't kick puppies in the street the fear of punishment, or because you know right from wrong?"

"OK, OK, let me run this by you.  This is an example I use with the youth group, so hopefully it will be simple enough for you to grasp.  When you walk into a shop and see some lovely chocolate fudge, and you think, 'Mmm, I would love some chocolate fudge,' what makes you feel bad about stealing that fudge?"

"Well," said TheBloke (TM), "we wouldn't steal the fudge.  It's our upbringing, our parents, our friends, our school; we grow up and form our ethics."

"Yes," I added.  "Also, it's not worth the risk.  We're lucky that we could both afford 10 Rand for some fudge if we really wanted some.  And if we couldn't, we wouldn't take it."

"Yes," agreed Reverend Sillymoustache.  "And that's God's voice.  I am happy to marry you, but you do know that marriage was created by God, and you're missing out on God's blessing."

"We're OK with that."

I'd like to think he prayed for us that night.  After hitting fat people in the street, and stealing fudge, like every good Reverend does.

Conversion conversation

Ploggers, I have returned!

So, for those of you who were wondering / running sweepstakes, neither of us was jilted at the altar (or in this case, game lodge), and I have returned to sunny Essex with a brand new husband.  I considered upgrading him in my Plog to TheHusband (TM), but I feel I've kind of already built a brand for him with TheBloke (TM), so let's leave it at that to avoid confusion.  I wouldn't want to disorientate you like when Marathon became Snickers or Opal Fruits became Starburst.

So, there are many stories to tell, and I shall start with the week before the wedding.  I have already regaled you with the tale of the racist beautician... gather close children, and I shall tell you my next tale.

One of the many things we had to do in the week before the wedding was to meet with the official who would be marrying us.  With both of us committed atheists, it was extremely important to us to have a civil service; neither of us wanted to make vows to something we didn't believe in.  TheBloke (TM)'s Very Helpful Sister Lorna (who basically organised the entire wedding) managed to sort someone out to officiate.  She did warn us he was a religious minister, but she'd briefed him that we wanted a civil ceremony.  He apparently said, "They're  not... atheists are they?"  She gently broke the news to him and apparently he was still OK to do the ceremony.

A few days before "I do", we had to go and see the minister, to sign the relevant paperwork and to discuss how we wanted the ceremony to run.  We were ushered into his study, where a large figurine of a man being tortured stood.  (I understand Christians enjoy artwork where their main man is being crucified.  And people who like puppies also like... pictures of puppies being kicked to death.)

"So," said Reverend Sillymoustache (please imagine your best ridiculous Afrikaans accent, complete with yappy dog in the background - presumably waiting to be kicked to death), "I have the paperwork you need to complete."

"Can we talk about the ceremony first?" I asked, conscious that if he was going to crowbar Jesus into the ceremony, we'd need to find another official - and with only two days to spare, I didn't want to spend valuable minister-finding time filling out duplicate paperwork.

"Oh, it won't take long," said Reverend Sillymoustache.  This would have been true, had Reverend Sillymoustache been of even near-normal intelligence levels.  Unfortunately, the next ten minutes consisted entirely of him saying, "Let me see, I have this... and this... and, yes, this..." (at which point he would put paper in a pile, painfully slowly).  "... But I do not have... oh wait, yes I have this," and so on, until my fingers dug fresh stigmata in my palms.

Finally, finally we finished the paperwork, and I asked about the wording of the ceremony he was planning to use.  He opened up a big book which looked like a Bible, but of course couldn't have been because we'd asked for a civil ceremony.

"Well," said Reverend Sillymoustache, "I am going to use the Methodist Bible."

TheBloke (TM) and I exchanged a look.  If I were to label the look, I'd put it somewhere between horror and hysteria.

"Right," I said.  "We really don't want any religious content, so I'm afraid that's not going to work for us."

"Let me just read it through for you," said Reverend Sillymoustache, and we can talk about it then."

"Well..."

He interrupted me.  "So... it will be 'Do you take TheBloke (TM) to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death us do part, according to God's holy law...'"

TheBloke (TM) interrupted, "Yeah, that's the bit we don't want.  The God bit."

Reverend Sillymoustache continued, "I really think it's better if I read through the whole service, so you can see it in context."

"No," I said and stood up, and went round to his side of the desk and looked at his Bible.  I pointed out all the bits we didn't want, whilst trying to be diplomatic.  I said, "I actually really like some of the poetry in the Bible, and I have no problem at all with the vows themselves.  If you were happy to, you could just leave off the 'God's holy law' part - but I totally understand if you think it's disrespectful to change the words of the Bible.  So if you'd prefer to use totally different vows, that's fine too."

To cut an extremely long story short, he eventually agreed to cut out the God part from the vows, after saying,  worryingly, "I will play with the wording and come up with something romantic for the day."  I suggested he ran it by TheBloke (TM) prior to the ceremony, as I'd be busy getting changed.

We'd finally hammered it home (so we thought) about wanting a religion-free ceremony.  At which point, the not-terribly-bright chap said, "So, which Bible readings would you like?  And have you had a thought about a sermon?"  We thought he was joking, but no.  So, we carefully explained (again) that yes, we were having two readings, but one of them was Shakespeare, and the other was Toni Morrison, and we didn't want a sermon at all.  No God.  Thank you.

He looked worried, as if something important had just occurred to him.  "So, are you saying I mustn't start the ceremony with a prayer then?"

"That's right."

"But don't you have friends coming who are religious?"

"A couple of mine are," said TheBloke (TM), "but the point is the wedding day should be about what we want."

"Hmm," said Reverend Sillymoustache.  Another worried thought crossed his mind.  "I have just thought now," he said.  "Must I come casual?"

I had no idea what he meant.  "Well, smart casual will be fine," I said.  "Probably not jeans and trainers, but no need to wear a suit."

"No," said Reverend Sillymoustache.  "I mean, must I wear my dog collar and cassock?"

For Fuck's Sake.

Tomorrow: an existential argument with Reverend Sillymoustache over what a civil ceremony might actually be.  Stay tuned!