How a wedding might bridge the great divide between both sides of the capital
Kennet says to meet them at two o’clock in Callon Teerp Cast Doddle. It’s hord to believe we’re from the same planet, never mind the same city. I end up having to listen to his voicemail over and over and over again before I realise it’s Clontorf Castle He’s trying to say Clontorf Castle.
Look, I’ve got nothing against the Dublin accent. I totally get that it was invented to allow criminals to talk to each other without the Gords having a clue what they were talking about. But what is the point of leaving a message if it takes me, like, an hour to work out what he’s trying to say, then I end up being late?
He has the actual cheek to say it to me when I arrive as well. He looks at his watch and he goes, “T… T… T… Toyum do you calt this?”
There’s, like, two TV cameras pointing at us, I notice. And that’s when I remember that Ronan and Shadden’s wedding preparations are going to be featured in an episode of Don’t Tell the Bride – or, as Kennet would no doubt call it, Doatunt Ted the Barroyud.
You just know that they’re going to really ramp up the will-he-or-won’t-he? tension of me being late. The dramatic music and blah, blah, blah. Kennet is definitely playing up to the camera, so I decide to take him down a peg or six. I’m there. “If you hadn’t left the arrangements in rhyming slang, then I wouldn’t have spent the last hour sitting in the hord shoulder of the M50 listening to your message one-hundred-and-thirty-seven times.”
It’s good TV. You can see the director actually thinking it. The father of the groom and the father of the bride. Two men who represent the two sides of this divided city. Good and evil.The rest of them are waiting in the reception of the hotel. We’re talking Dordeen. We’re talking Ronan, Shadden and little Rihanna-Brogan.
Seven-hundred people? You’re only eighteen. You haven’t even
met seven hundred people.
I’m there. “Is this definitely where you want to have it, Ro? What about the Shelbourne?”
“The Sheddle Burden idn’t for eer type of people,” Dordeen goes.
My old dear would be with you on that point, I think.
Ronan’s there. “In addyhow, there’s already anutter episowud where the couple’s getting maddied in the Sheddle Burden.”
The director dude storts, well, directing. The cameras are running the entire time while he’s suggesting various jumping-off points for the conversation. He goes: “Kennet, maybe you could tell Ronan’s father how many people you want to invite to the wedding?”
Kennet goes, “S… S… S… Sebben hunthrit.”
I’m like, “Seven-hundred?” because I’m the one who’s going to be putting my hand in my sky-rocket for this. I look at Ronan and Shadden – love’s young dream. “You’re only eighteen. You haven’t even met seven hundred people.”
And Kennet goes: “They’re just the f… f… frents of me and Dordeen.’
Corrina, the wedding planner, eventually arrives to talk us through the arrangements. She’s a serious looker and she’s totally comfortable in front of the cameras. “So what kind of wedding do you want?” she goes.
“Sometin veddy faddency,” Dordeen goes. “Like sometin you’d seen ont the tetty. Downtoorden Abbey or one of them. No expedense speert.”
I’m like, “Hang on a second.”
“A f… f… f… f… faree bar,” Kennet goes. “I doatunt waddent addyone putting their hant in their pocket.”
“Until the end of the night,” I go, “and it’s time to pay the bill. Then you’ll presumably have your hand in mine.”
Dordeen goes: “Hee-or, your son ast eer thaughter to maddy him – not the utter way arowunt. It shouldn’t be costing us a peddy.”
Kennet goes: “We waddent yisser b… b… b… best funk shidden roowum. And best of evvyting, mattord of fact. F… F… F… Flowers. Lights. Music.”
“What about food?” the woman goes.
“Just make shewer there’s loawuts,” Dordeen goes. “The deardor, the bethor.” I look at Ronan, but he’s not even following the conversation. I’m not sure if the director has noticed but I certainly have? He’s just, like, staring at Corrina, pretty much drooling.
I’m like, “What about you, Ro? Do you have you any thoughts?”
He’s there, “Soddy?” suddenly snapping out of it.
“I’m just wondering did you have any opinions about this wedding? You’re supposedly getting married in the summer – I don’t know if you remember that.”
“No,” he goes, “Ine easy, Rosser. Whatebber Shadden waddents.”
The woman goes, “I’ll tell you what, I’m just going to get my menu book, then I’ll talk you through some of the meal options.”
She walks off, then a second or two later, Ronan goes: “Ine joost going to the jacks. Back in a midute.”
Off he goes as well? That’s when Dordeen basically turns on me. She goes, “What’s your problem?”
I’m there. “Er, I wasn’t aware I had one?”
“A face on you evvy toyum you’re ast to put your hant in your pocket. Your son is veddy lucky Shadden agreeyut to take him back arthur he did the doorty on her. The bleaten cheek of you to be pudden faces.”
This, like, weird feeling comes over me? It’s like when you leave the house and you can’t shake the feeling that the maid left the immersion on or the iron plugged in.
I suddenly notice that the cameras have gone. And the director has gone too. These are TV people – they have a sense of where the action is actually happening. I stand up and I go: “I’ll be back in a second.”
I head for reception and that’s when I notice Ro locked in deep conversation – with Corrina.
She doesn’t look happy, by the way. I notice a cameraman filming them from behind a pillar. I end up watching it on the monitor.
She’s going, “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”
And he’s there, “I think you’re lubbly, but.”
She’s there. “But you’re getting married. I’m about to explain the menu options to your fiancée for your wedding day.”
He goes: “Ine not maddied yet, but.”
He’s got the gift of the gab – like his old man.
“You’re engaged,” she goes.
He’s there. “Dirrint stop you checken me out. Unthressing me wit yisser eyes.”
Not before time, Corrina – in full view of the camera – slaps him right across the face.