Ten years' married

Just about this time, ten years ago today, a tall striking ex-rower with blonde hair and a beaming smile, strolled down the aisle of a candle-lit Rosslyn Chapel on the arm of a tearful father to meet her be-kilted beau at the altar.

It may have been cold outside, but Sharon's smile warmed my heart and has done ever since.

Happy tenth anniversary, my dear!

We've packed a lot in in the last ten years, but between having four boys and building up her own Pampered Chef business, it's fair to say Sharon has been slightly the busier of the two of us. She couldn't have done it without a good man by her side though!

Seasonal change

My cricket season came to a belated end with the annual trip up to Largo later than usual this year, on the second Sunday of the month. We had a facile victory over a team of old heads and youngsters but it was good to get a bat and a bowl after a long break since our previous fixture. It was a mixed season, with no success in the main cup competitions and a struggle to get teams out in friendlies. Eventually we ended up ahead with more wins than losses but the lack of enthusiasm from career staff coupled with my increasing commitments at work and home may cast doubts over whether we can get a team organised next season. It has become a bit of a chore and my creaking limbs have meant the playing side hasn't been all that enjoyable either. I only ended up with five wickets this year, a record low. Still, it was good to have the post-match banter with Goof and a couple of the guys in the Railway Inn in Lower Largo and then mark the passing of another season (my 22nd for Standard!) by going down to the waters edge and looking across to the Lothians.

Sean has starting going to the Beavers along at St. John's church next to the library in Oxgangs. Ross is going too. For now it's just an extension of arts and crafts and running about games as far as Sean is concerned so he seems quite happy to go along with it. Sean and Finn went for a sleepover to Ross's house and had a fine time. They're both back at swimming too, which is a bit of a handful for Sharon; trying to mind Angus and keeping Rowan from ending up in the pool. At the school's curriculum night, Mrs. Henry, Finn's teacher, said he had settled well and had very good scores in his initial assessments. Sharon was less impressed with Mrs. Urquhart, Sean's teacher, but we suspect that she is mixing him up with someone else at the moment. Sean had apparently made himself a name badge as he was getting annoyed at being called "James."

Michael (or "Paps" as Rowan has been calling him), was over as I was due to go to London for a Gartner conference. I had to cancel that for work reasons but ended up going to London for another piece of work the day after Michael went home! I got the train back up which was novel and surprisingly quick. 4h 20m from Kings Cross; a good bit quicker than whenever I last did that journey, probably 20 years ago. Considering how long it takes to get out to Heathrow, go through security and fly, the train is a reasonable alternative.

When we were waiting for Sharon's flight to arrive I took the boys to Craigie Fruit Farm for big bits of cake and a play on the tractors. Rowan was throwing himself down the hill in his tractor with his usual lack of concern for all and sundry, including himself. It's only a matter of time before he breaks something.

Linked by the links

I've managed to get in a bit of golf this summer, being determined to use up my GreenFeeSavers vouchers this year rather than let them languish in the drawer until the winter is upon me and any enthusiasm for golf has died with the leaves on the trees. The day after our return from Ireland I played Euan Fletcher at West Linton. It's fair to say Euan poses more of a threat to whatever wildlife inhabits the heather and gorse of the Pentlands than to the European Tour, but my golf was poor too, with woeful putting especially a concern as I blundered my way to a 95 with about 44 putts.

After a shaky start yesterday, my putting did recover, but not enough to prevent Scott and I going down to a 2 hole defeat to Pete Bell and Steve Caldwell at Scotscraig. Scott kept us in it early on but post-wedding tiredness caught up with him and it was a 15-footer from me that took us down the last but Pete's par clinched it. Still, an 89 (+18) was more like my handicap form.

Sharon and I were up at St. Andrews at the weekend for Scott and Zoe's wedding. Steve was best man, hence his appearance this side of the Atlantic, with Marion and children Euan and Tessa in tow. They came round to ours for dinner last week. The wedding was most enjoyable, held at the Kinkell Byre amidst the new golf courses to the east of St. Andrews. The views north up the Angus coastline were stunning. And Angus was stunning too, being on his best behaviour during the ceremony and subsequent reception, wide-eyed at the lights and the music as I got him up for a dance for his late feed. It was good seeing Scott's Glasgow High pals again and Mike the Fat Postie, as well as my Uni chums such as Steve Dane and Mark Salmon, recalling tales of derring-do and student-life stupidity. Thanks to Wendy and Ian for minding the big three and not objecting to our post-0100 return home.

Sean and Finn are on a drama camp this week up at the church and seem to be enjoying it. It's good pre-P1 training for Finn: getting up and dressed and fed and out and spending a whole day (0930-1600) in the company of a mix of children. They've been painting and singing and learning some things for a show to be put on at the end of the week. Angus had a belated 6-week check and is growing 1cm per week and is now over a stone in weight. No wonder our backs are sore humphing him about!

Lord v Kavanagh

Congratulations to Pete and Tracy who tied the knot today at Cabra Castle in Co. Cavan. We had a rare ol' time on the day, despite Sharon being sworn off the drink due to the impending arrival of our first child. Sharon was resplendent in a fine shimmering outfit that she made herself!

Athlone globetrotters

Olivia is in Belize, Edel is in Fiji, Adrian is at home in Athlone trying to get his knee sorted. Pete and Tracy are getting married next Friday and the Wallace house is in a flurried state of preparation. Sharon is busy sewing herself a little "number". Ian hasn't got his kilt jacket sorted yet. We are both looking forward to seeing everyone back in Ireland, and Susan and Sharon can compare bumps!

An engaging tale

Congratulations to Pete Kavanagh and Tracy Lord who have finally put Sharon out of her misery and announced their engagement. So Pete's story of flying halfway round the world to bring Tracy back from Australia may yet be told to the grandchildren!

First anniversary

Our first wedding anniversary has been and gone and we spent it decorating! The only stripping going on was of the bathroom wallpaper! Thanks to everyone who sent us cards and flowers.

Ian's "wee" sister, Lesley Halliday of the Clan MacBeak, is 40 today! Congratulations and stop moaning about it!

Another wedding

Congratulations to Susan and Dermot who did the honourable thing in New Ross, Wexford. I apologise for almost stealing the show by wearing my kilt but Mrs. Wallace would have him wear it for going to the shops if she could so she wasn't going to miss an opportunity. Or Mrs Hunting-Wallace, as someone thought she was called, because I said I was wearing the Hunting Wallace tartan.

The snow was very bad but we just managed to out-run it, first from Athlone on the way to New Ross and then on the drive up to Belfast. Glasgow was like a ghost town, with cars abandoned in week-old drifts in the centre of the city.

In the news

STOP PRESS! Mr. & Mrs. Wallace appear in a double page spread in the Daily Record Saturday supplement. It may not be Hello magazine but it's a start. Grab a copy and shed a tear at the poignant tale of their engagement in Paris.

The Wedding

It's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you...

On a cold, grey day Sharon's smile lit up Rosslyn Chapel as she glided down the aisle to meet her be-kilted groom. From start to finish we had a great Wedding Day!

The groom slept well in his town residence in Abbotsford Crescent, drifting off to sleep to the supremely calming strains of Miserere. He had a marvellously calm morning, taking his time pottering about his flat until his able best man, Mr. Alan Edgar, arrived to assist him assemble his outfit with little ado. The usher, Mr. Peter Kavanagh, duly arrived to escort the groom's party to Rosslyn Chapel where heaters were switched on (honest!), before the party retired briefly up the road to Ye Olde Rosslyn Inn for some warmth and a light glass of pop.

The bride had a rather more frantic preparation over at the country residence in Duddingston Mills, as the hairdresser descended on her, the Mother of the Bride and Dressmaker, Mrs. Marie Coen, and the two bridesmaids, Ms. Olivia Coen and Ms. Edel Coen. The sight of the two male members of the Coen entourage, Father of the Bride, Mr. Michael Coen, and brother Mr. Adrian Coen, supplying the bridal party with tea, coffee, rashers and eggs was apparently one to behold. Due to illness amongst the drivers, the cars and photographers (who had to drive the cars!) were a tad tardy, leading to consternation that the bride would be more than acceptably late. But she made it to the church (just about) on time.

On writing our accounts of the wedding whilst on honeymoon, we filled about 80 pages of the journal, which I believe is now ensconced in a box in the attic (maybe the hat-box with teddy bears on the lid?), so I'll be less detailed here!

The Episcopalian service was wonderful, the ancient church (1462) light by 96 candles was packed and the bride looked magnificent in ivory and cream, backed by the bridesmaids in claret. And the kilted groom and groomsmen looked nae bad too! Sharon's smile won the day though, beaming like a beacon as she sailed down the aisle. No nerves, just two people very lucky and very pleased to be marrying each other in front of family and friends. The jolly Rev. Michael Fass presided over proceedings with bonhomie, except for the glares at opportunist photographers!

Mr. and Mrs. Wallace emerged to the sound of Rosslyn Chapel bells (thanks to Gordon Campanologist Barnes) as man and wife. Before everyone turned blue with the cold, the guests were packed back on to the bus and the photos completed.

Back at the Braid Hills Hotel we were greeted by Comedy Piper, a man to whom high notes and low notes were as one - unplayable! We had more photos then the meal, with the top table on show on the stage and able to see and be seen. Michael's speech left nary a dry eye in the house (and even subsequent video viewers have been seen to shed a tear) as he welcomed Ian into the family and thanked Marie for their 32 years of marriage. Ian's speech came and went and Eggie, with little material to work with (the man Wallace is, after all, beyond compare!) still managed to spin out long enough for those with bets placed in the fifty-minute slot for the duration of the speeches to sweep up. Especially once Sharon had added her thanks to those who had gone before and toasted absent friends.

From then on the evening flew by as first the Dreamliners, led by Standard Life pal Callum Gourlay, with their mixture of 40s and 50s swing and jive, including an unusual interpretation of AC/DC's Back in Black, and then the Jack Daniels Experience, a raucous rhythm'n'blues three-piece we discovered in the Clachaig Inn in Glencoe, got us up on the dance floor. It Had To Be You was chosen for the first dance and whilst the subsequent rocky selection may not have been to everyone's tastes, it was our wedding and we thoroughly enjoyed it!

At half-past midnight the party moved to the residents' bar for a Scotland v Ireland singing match, accompanied by Tom Coen and Alan Edgar. Not so much Duelling Banjoes as "gie me the guitar - wherz ma plectrum? Ah stuff it, ah'll use a fifty pee!" from the tired and emotional best man. Despite the best efforts of Richie The Scottish Soldier Brown, the Irish ran out easy winners with, as Richie pointed out, a diet of doom, gloom, famine and death. But at least they knew the words.

The bride and groom escaped at two in the morning but it was two hours or more before the rest of the party dissipated, with a few (fool)hardy guests not quitting till 5am.

We had a great day and if you were there, thanks for coming along. We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!

Counting down slowly

We're bored. We've done as much as we can and now all we can do is wait. The orders of service are printed, the place-cards are written, Sharon has returned from Ireland with her dress in a diplomatic bag and has taken to shuffling about the house in her wedding shoes hidden beneath big socks (to prevent scuffing) so they can be broken in, while I've secured a sporran and had my herr cut. The photographer has been consulted, the cars are filled with LRP and ready to roll and the video camera is in the hands of Zoom Halliday. If you want to know who's coming and who's not, see the Guest List. Bribes will be accepted for the seating plan!

Don't be a fuel

Yikes! We're into November already. Bride and groom-to-be sampled the wedding menu last night at Braid Hills and are pleased to report it all looked and tasted splendid (and we're not easy to please when it comes to our grub)! The main concern is still the potential for fuel and transport disruptions. If you are driving, training or flying, make sure you've planned ahead regarding petrol, timetables and strikes! Regarding fuel, look up BBC News for the current stories.

Happy Halloween

Happy Hallowe'en! Less than 20 days to go and the nerves are starting to jangle. Why was I asking Sharon in my sleep if she had bought the Mongolian hake? Strikes and transport interruptions are our biggest bugbear at the moment. Please make sure you've got petrol in your tank the weekend before the wedding! At least Aer Lingus ground staff have decided not to strike this Friday, so Sharon can get home for her final dress fitting. And as for the railways... Sharon's Hen Night went very well with a day of pampering and an hour of swanning round Edinburgh sipping champagne in a white stretch limo! That's as much as I've been told!

Awright hen

Saturday October 21st was the fateful date of the traditional Hen. And what a day it was! Thoroughly enjoyed by the Hen herself and rumours have it the bevvy of party goers had a decent time too! Those in attendence were a mix-'em gather-'em bunch from all corners of Sharon's dark and murky past.

The day started well, with Carol arriving at the house to pick me up and off we headed into the shopping delights of Edinburgh, in an excursion to find some bridal bra'n'pants. Our quest for lingerie took us to John Lewis and Jenners but we left empty-handed. However, we had a good laugh at the John Lewis lady who tried to tell me I was a 36DD. In Ian's dreams! By the way, the John Lewis lady did actually work in the lingerie department, and wasn't any old bird, doing her shopping, offering estimations on chest sizes!

Having met Judy for a quick bite, we had to go collect Alana en route. Her hangover was quite a belter and it's the quietest I have seen her in quite some time. Neither the silence or the hangover lasted long, thankfully!

We arrived at Next Generation a few minutes late. After an initial few moments of general confusion and nobody having a clue what was going on (me included in that), we eventually got ourselves sorted and the party was split into those who wanted to go for a swim and those not too energetically inclined. The afternoon was spent in the sauna, steam room, Japanese spa, and the pool. It was all incredibly relaxing. Some kind lady came along and gave us all some white wine! Alana took quite a liking to the bucket of cold water that you could voluntarily (?) pull over yourself. There was also this long hose, which looked far too much like a device used for colonic irrigation!

Some of us availed of the services of the Cheynes Beauty salon, offering Swedish massage, facials, chicken plucking and the likes. Magic darts!

When the time came to get changed, there were queues for the showers, queues for the hairdryers, cries of "I can't find my clean pants", checking belly-buttons to see if they've "popped" yet, the admiring of new outfits, and Lesley Stewart and I agreeing that we were old enough and confident enough to go out wearing the same trousers! General hot-chicks-getting-ready-to-go-out stuff.

We moseyed along, all tarted up, to the bar to have a few drinks, pick up Phil (not in the biblical sense!), and chill out before heading to Mariachi's. Carole B handed me my first gift of the night which was a disposable camera and a funky photo album to store the snaps at a later date. Much appreciated! Sitting there, we were sipping our gins when a voice comes from behind "Is there a Sharon Coen in the bar?" I turned and saw this middle-aged man in a grey suit and a cap walking towards me. My initial thought was "Christ, he's a bit old for a stripper!"

But no! He announces "Your limousine is outside whenever you are ready." There was a sudden crash! It was my jaw hitting the floor. My honey, darling,
gorgeous, wonderful friends had gone to the trouble of hiring a stretch limo for a champagne tour of Edinburgh! This was, without a doubt, the best part of the day! We all piled in, lounging on the leather-upholstered chairs, sipping champagne from crystal glasses. We toured about and it was dead funny peering out at all these people through tinted glass while they peered in to see who was in the limo. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.... can't say enough! A huge thanks to the usual suspects for arranging it. Judy, I thought of you while we drank the bubbly; you were the one born to live in such splendour and luxury, shame you missed it. :-(

We were deposited outside Mariachi's in Leith where we met up the rest of the gang who were meeting us there, Ali, Julia and Christine. They obviously had got piled into the margharitas. Food and more drink were ordered, and then the gifts began to be passed out! My wonderful pink fluffy tiara was put in place for the evening. The handcuffs were interesting, especially when I thought I had lost the keys only to find I had quietly put them down my bra for safe keeping and then promptly forgotten where I had put them!

One of the best laughs of the night was Alana pouring out a glass of margharita and the whole contents of the jug sliding out into and around her glass and over someone's nachos! The look on Alana's face was worth it! Being the chancing git I am, I tried to wangle a free replacement jug, but the waiters weren't having any of it. Speaking of waiters, does anyone know who that chap was who kept coming over for kisses, winking at me from across the room, etc? Anyone get his phone number??? ;-)

Other delights included Lust Dust, which I think you "sprinkle on his winkle", according to the packaging. Whats wrong with Grow-bags, I say? The archer's set of bow, arrow and quiver was well received, althought it took me a few go's to sort out this firing an arrow business. The one I managed to get right launched across the room, whizzing past a surprised waiter called Miguel! Lets just say I am no William Tell!

Alana brought along some lucky bags, which provided all sorts of daft toys, colouring books and crayons to keep us amused, sweeties, and best of all, little packs of cards with characters on them. Phil quickly found two he
liked, which he stuck to his chest - "Queen" and "Fairy"!

And what Hen Night would be complete without the ubiquitous dessert of two scoops of ice-cream and a well placed banana with a cherry on top! But did they really have to make such a show of me, with the enormous sombrero, and the old "Cong-rat-ula-tions, and cele-bra-tions..." little tune? What size was that hat, you could have housed a small Mexican family in there!

From there, we wandered over to Nobles where a band were playing. Good band, shame about the singer who was about a half tone out of key the whole time! After one drink and a couple of murdered hits of the '80's, we departed and ended up in The Ship. A couple of drinks there and then we called it a day at chucking out time. Various taxis were hailed and we all went our own merry way.

I went to bed with trepidation that night, thinking I was going to have a belter of a hangover the next day. But I felt surprisingly fine on the Sunday, considering the amount of alcohol I poured down my neck the night before. Somehow, I felt I had cheated the system, and got away scot free! Maybe it was the cup of tea Carol and I had before going to bed that saved us? But after consultation with a few others, the general opinion is that Mariachi's arent too liberal with the old tequila in their nmargharitas!

Thanks to one and all who attended the hen day/night, your company made the day a special one. And I'd also have looked a right eejit on a hen night on my own :-) I collected the photos and they are an interesting collection of snaps! Some great shots with the limo, a fab one of Phil on the floor of the limo,
Alana with her spilt Margharita, Lynne doing a fabulous sphincter-mouth impersonation, me and the stripper/limo driver, and who took that one of my cleavage? I'll try and scan some in and get them loaded up!

PS. I am not the wordsmith my husband-to-be is, so apologies for the sh*te prose compared to his eloquent rendition of his stag.

PPS. And yes, I know I left out the bit about the Chippendale strippers and all the kinky lingerie, but the less Ian knows about that, the better. So lips buttoned ladies, we'll keep that between ourselves!

One month to go

We've both sorted out all our jags for the honeymoon. Any resemblence between my backside and a dart board are merely incidental. Dressmaker Marie is making a wonderful job of Sharon, Olivia and Edel's dresses. Sharon goes home for a final fitting on the first weekend of November. My kilt has arrived, but is yet to be collected from the shop.

I've survived the stag weekend and Sharon's Hen is all set for this weekend. Lock up your young nubile sons! John Lewis have informed us that the wedding list is now opened. They also frightened the living daylights out of Sharon by referring to her as Mrs S Wallace! Crikey! That was my mother's name!

Stag-grr

It's not often the groom-to-be is the only one who doesn't have a drop to drink on his stag night but I've always been a contrary so-and-so!

The famed Paisley crowd met up for the first time in two years on the evening of Friday 13th October (as black a portent as one could expect; coincidentally, some claim the origins of Friday 13th as a reputed day of doom tie in with events of 693 years previously when Philip "The Fair" of France moved against the Knights Templar causing them to flee the country. What their vast riches were and where they ended up has been the subject of much recent popular conjecture, with a strong belief that Rosslyn Chapel has subsequently played an important part in housing the spiritual, if not material, riches of the scattered order. But I digress...)

Suffering from the latest in a long line of head colds, I decided that a beer or two would maybe set me right. We all joined up in the Malt Shovel in Cockburn Street, with Jim and Richie carrying on from their warm-up on the train up from Peterborough (Richie brought a small rucksack for the weekend which was by now half-empty having contained his carry-out), Eggie and Niggy scaring the passers-by at the window, Hunter proving that his hair still has more body than Jabba The Hut while his body just has, well, more body, and Greenie looking like he'd misplaced his deerstalker.

The arrival of Sharon and Pete prompted Richie to ask, on at least four occasions, if she had change for her bus fare home, and wasn't this the stag?

An early night beckoned and despite frightening the taxi queue with renditions of popular Scottish country dance numbers, ex-pat Brown was forced into a taxi and packed on his way. Never one to be quelled, he displayed his culinary skills back at my flat making a stir-fry out of dear knows what he could find. Fresh food wasn't on the list but tinned mussels and oyster sauce were. The end result was Hunter having an out-of-body experience the next day.

Saturday did not start well. My quest for a cure under the guidance of McEwans 70 bob had been sadly awry and as I retched and stretched the morning away I had to accept that the trip to Kelso would be minus the stag himself. Pete, Eggie and Niggy fried anything that didn't move and went on their way over to my flat where, judging by the phone calls I'd been getting, a more debauched version of the same scene was being enacted. A sample of calls: Richie - "There's nae butter! Ah'm out the house now turning right. Where dae ah get butter?" Jim - "Where's yer forks?" Hunter - "Bloooaarrrgghhh!" Jim also expressed dismay at Richie's first movement of the day, taken whilst the former was enjoying a cleansing shower.

The bus to Kelso was awaiting the staggees at the end of my road, as was Richie wearing my poncho, swearing loudly and draining his nth can of lager for the day. Just as I was settling down to watch Football Focus, trying to get my body back together, the doorbell rang and the lynch mob arrived, Richie at its head. No escape, I was going to Kelso. Five minutes later I too was on the bus to travel the undulating 40 miles to the races.

It got progressively quieter as the journey wore on and the road got more uppity-downity but we got there intact. Bladder Brown leapt from the bus in relief and we wandered about aimlessly in the glorious sunshine amidst the curious mix of Newcastle betting boys with their short-sleeved shirts and tabs and the tweed, soft-hat and sideburns brigade (and that's just the women!) of Borders farmers and landowners. A few close finishes and six favourites winning meant a bad day's business for the bookies and a good atmosphere amongst the punters, but the fifteen of us didn't return to the pay-out window too often. High Roller Dave Ainslie had a big win but still finished down at the end of the day, whilst Gordon Digger Barnes was the only one who reportedly turned a profit. Had he turned a prophet and let us in on his selections then we might have fared better!

Having extricated Richie from the bar and a variety of white stretch limos (his quest for Slavic ladies of the night knows no bounds) we dozed our way back to Edinburgh in decent time, despite guess-who's repeated requests for a detour to drink in the Borders.

Letting the SLAC lads find their own nosh in town, the rest of us sampled the delights of the Lee On Chinese restaurant, with Richie nearing his nadir over his chicken chow mein and spare ribs. There are only so many restaurants where you can get away with choice expletives that can be heard in every corner. Fortunately the Lee On is one.

Walking along to the Cowgate we somehow got past the temptations of Tollcross and the West Port. The Three Sisters was too noisy so we reformed as a larger party once more in Bannermans then moved round to The Tron where a table for 15 was secured and the serious business of imbibing was undertaken. Aided by a man in a gorilla suit, Greenie doing Baldy Man impersonations using a banana skin, a vamp who could have eaten us all for breakfast and a succession of young ladies who took to the dance floor undaunted by the proximity of schweaty males almost twice their age strutting their stuff to Baggy Trousers, the evening fairly took off.

Having moved on to vodka and orange Reefs, Richie had got his fourth wind and exhorted us all to greater efforts as the evening moved to a close. A few stragglers made it across to Whistlebinkies (and if that doorman wasn't just pocketing the £2 then I'm an 18 year-old blonde with pigtails) but as Greenie fell asleep with a monkey-nut shell balanced on his head we knew it was time to go.

Everyone made it home eventually and this time there were no stir-frys. And I had a great time despite (or maybe because of) drinking only water all day and not eating.

Sunday dawned equally bright and balmy though Richie could only share his time between lying on the living room floor moaning and kneeling on the bathroom floor groaning. A tribute to his mentality though was him asking if he could be taken to the pub because "he couldn't feel much worse than this
and maybe a drink would set him right". When I did phone him he was in Deacon Brodie's, partaking of a tomato juice.

With all the dehydrated bodies departing the scene of the crime and my neighbours claiming they never heard a peep, life has returned to normal.

And yes, I am feeling better, thanks for asking.

Wedding arrangements

The honeymoon is paid for, we've met the organist (his objections to "Knees Up Mother Brown" for the arrival of the bride were duly noted) and we've stockpiled petrol for the wedding cars, but we're still awaiting some RSVPs. E-mail responses will be accepted!