Somehow I managed to either lose
or ignore the letter, email, telegram,
or other missive which detailed the
chosen uniform for the gentlemen
involved in the wedding party. It
only occurred to me that there
might have been such a document
during my drive to the happy
couple's house on the night before
the wedding. (n.b. I also managed
to lose the invitation, and only
knew the date of the wedding due
to some rather effective detective
work at the stag party (I asked the
groom, and he told me). It seems
safe to assume therefore that I was
the one in the wrong – that there
had been instructions which I had
summarily failed to follow). So
there I was in the car listening
closely to the greatest hits of David
Essex or some such collection, my
rather natty slate grey suit and
Prince of Wales royal twill shirt in a
complimentary shade of
cindersmoke lying across the back
seat, putting pedal to the metal (or
near the metal where the speedlimits permitted) in my delectable
new brown suede brogues. I had
tried them all together before
leaving, and I looked at least 80%
less hopeless than usual. A huge
success.
However, it dawned on me as I
passed Thetford and Diss (just two
of the beautifully named towns on
the way to Norwich, where the
wedding was) that at weddings the
groom and his attendant fellows
tend to co-ordinate. I wondered
should I have brought black shoes,
for example? Or a white shirt, just in
case?
Had there been a tie agreed upon? I'd
brought a particular blue tie, partly
because it was the tie both the groom
and I had worn in the school choir where
we met (a pleasant if sentimental touch, I
thought), and partly, mostly, because it
looked brilliant with the aforementioned
grey stuff. But what if I was meant to have
got myself a special bespoke bowtie
Sleeves Magazine