Bear Witness

Essentially today has, so far, been nothing but a bit of loveliness. My bestest bud Mat and his girlfriend Hannah did the formal part of their wedding this morning, making them officially, by certificate, husband and wife. The big do is in a few weeks time so today was just the ‘paperwork’ but made so much more by a small collection of family types, the head bridesmaid and me, the latter of us being official witnesses. I’ve never been an official witness for anything. I mean, I’ve witnessed stuff, oh yes. These peepers have seen many things. Yes indeed. Some things I will never speak of again, some I will tell my grandchildren. Some I will accidentally tell my grandchildren despite never meaning to speak of them again and probably scarring them for life due to me eating a chocolate bar before putting them to bed. But despite these things, I have never been asked officially to write that I have seen them, though again, that may change if I end up telling children about them.

So today, pen in hand, I signed a bit of fancy paper I totally didn’t read the small print from and either now my scrawly signature is on Mat and Hannah’s marriage certificate, or I am now their slave. I hope its the former. Either way, it was an honour to be ask to do the most adult thing I’ve probably ever done. Best friends’ getting married really is a sign that we are all adults now. I mean, on a bit of paper it says that my friends are together until ‘death do them part’. That’s a fairly big deal isn’t it? And not something a kid would sign. Adults however comprehend such joining of people and so by them doing that, not only does it declare their love for each other, but also that they are properly properly adults who understand such things. I’m still not sure I can do that. At best I can probably comprehend ’till something bad do us part’ but that may well be food poisoning (I can be quite off-putting when vomitus) or something I say when drunk. Again, the problem here seems to be me, rather than anyone else.

Soon they’ll probably have kids and then have to look after kids so can’t really be big kids and that’ll be the moment I realise I’d better take an interest in gardening now or forever resign myself to dress as Peter Pan dancing round the kitchen signing ‘I’ll never grow up’. I worry this will upset the neighbours. They have seen me in nowt but boxer shorts before (and I’m fairly certain one saw me in less than that but the kitchen surface saved my grace. This is however irrelevant as when Nat and Tom lived in the living room through February to March they would repeatedly scream at me to keep my door closed as they were indecent only for me to eventually be allowed in and to find all the blinds had been wide open. While I’m pleased I was saved such sights of the kind I wouldn’t tell grandchildren about, I also felt oddly rejected that the public were allowed to when I wasn’t) but I feel that green tights is a level of indecency beyond basic underwear.

Still I hope they do have kids, if only so I can become a Godparent then ensure that I help bring that kid up properly so that they witness me dressed as Peter Pan sobbing in the kitchen and gain something on their belt to never tell the grandkids.

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