And will you be bringing anyone?

The topic for today children is… weddings. Or, should I say, bloody weddings. I attend a lot of these things. A LOT of them. Not my own of course. Moons will have to align, seas freeze over and prehistoric beasts roam the land sporting novelty ‘see you Jimmy’ hats before that particular coup comes off. Nope, ‘tis the up-coming nuptials of a very talented arty pal of mine. You know who you are. So, the topic up for discussion is:



The ‘plus one’ wedding phenomenon and how to approach it

The dreaded ‘Plus One’ conundrum. A relatively modern phenomenon and yet another nasty nail bomb in the minefield of social etiquette that is the British wedding. Because, be warned, weddings are no longer about flowers and champagne, romance and happy people. Oh no, no, no. For single ladies (and perhaps men) of a 30-something persuasion, weddings are a perilous and bloody battlefield. Stick on your tit-tape, squeeze your hobbit-bunions into those Jimmy Choos (actually, I’ve never owned a pair of designer shoes in my life) and take no prisoners, cos weddings are a SERIOUS business. They require no less than a full-blown military strategy if you’re to get through alive. So, this is the question. When given the plus one option, do you:

1) Immediately contact the most handsome man of your acquaintance and persuade him to attend with the promise of champagne and drunk bridesmaids.

2) Politely decline a plus one on the grounds that you are a strong independent lady, secure in herself and her ability to attract a handsome (or just breathing) boyfriend, should she wish to.

3) Pay a male model.

4) Resign yourself and ask an old friend. At least you’ll have someone to chat to and hold your drink while you go to the loo.

Hmmm…

The handsome man option, while appealing, could backfire horribly. You arrive with handsome mystery man. You laugh and chat as champagne flutes tinkle. Girls cast jealous looks in your direction. Then 5 hours later he’s gyrating around the place with his tie round his head and copping off with someone’s 18-year-old cousin. Rubbish.

2nd option. The emancipated woman route. This is even more perilous. As a single lady you pose your host all sorts of seating problems and stand a very high chance of being sat between a fat, morose divorcee and an angry lesbian (this has REALLY happened to me). The lesbian was actually lots of fun but that in itself is a little unsettling as you don’t want to be branded ‘the lesbian couple’ – well not if you’re not actually a lesbian anyway, be very inconvenient.

So… a male model? This might actually be fun. He would be polite and professional and you could mould him into any old fantasy you wanted. “Hi, yes, haven’t seen you in a while, have you met my boyfriend Alonso? He’s a base-jumping, pilot, neurosurgeon from Tuscany. He loves puppies. And me!”. Ah… it would be nice. But I can’t be trusted. I’m sure to make up something outrageous and no one will buy it for a second.

So, invite an old friend. It’s a nice safe option but it does sort of put you in the charity bin section of the supermarket. Aw, look, her best chum came along to keep her company. That’s nice. Bless her. Poor thing. NOPE. Absolutely not an option. Besides, if I invite A he’ll just ogle everyone’s wife/sister/mother and upset an arty type with his countryside views.

So what to do? Well, in the end I’ve gone for option 2. I’ll just have to run the risk of the lesbian/kiddies table (Would you like a crayon dear?). After all, how bad can it be? If anyone asks me why I’m flying solo I’ll just lie and say Alfonso’s at home saving a group of under-privileged street children from a rare form of brain cancer. Or something.

I would like to say at this point though, I am very happy I have been invited to this wedding. I don’t wish to come across as ungrateful here. Although, thinking about it, the bride to be would be blissfully unaware of the problems that the ‘plus one’ scenario presents. She is, after all, the type of girl who inspires this sort of response from the male of the species:



FYI: Dylan Lisle and Patsy McArthur - 1st July to 2nd August 2010 at the very brilliant Union Gallery, Edinburgh.

She is a smooth, classical muse-goddess. I am a lumpy alcoholic with comedy hair. These are the facts and Alonso will just have to take me as I am I’m afraid.