…a best man speech that didn’t quite go to plan.
What I did say was… dsjkfhskfjhksdjghsakjgh
Does anyone know the Heinrich Manoeuvre?
What I meant to say was…
Before I begin properly, a little Tweet on Twitter, told me that it was Honour the Forces day today. So I thought it would be appropriate to raise our glasses for ex-service, currently serving and those that could not be here today and thank them for risking life and limb with a short hair trim. If I could have everyone upstanding…
To the Armed Forces!
I never imagined I would be standing here today, in front of your guys, as Ross’ Best Man. Partly because he has an army of wonderful friends, although such a shame none of them could make it, and partly because about a month or so after first meeting him, he politely informed me that we would not have been friends at school. Apparently I was a bit too thespian for him…
I guess you can call this closure.
The proposal was not the most romantic of proposals. My phone beeped (without my knowledge as usual) and I found a text message saying “Best Man? x”.
“I do!”
To gain an understanding of the enormity of the challenge, I decided to look up the meaning of a wedding. I dusted off my dictionary and thumbed my way to the relevant page. Eventually, I came across a definition. “A sparkling and incandescent union between two inanimate objects”. That didn’t sound particularly romantic, it was then that I realised I was looking up welding!
I first clapped eyes on my soon to be flatmate when a rather smart car pulled up at Morrell Halls. Ross and Joe stumbled out bedecked in Billabong and Oakley. They looked like a couple of pro-surfers or idiots – take your pick. After the initial “Hello, where are you from?” They boasted of their drinking exploits, I was informed that they had devoured a 24 crate of Stella Artois on their way up from Exeter. They were either seasoned drinkers or prone to the odd mistruth…
They then spent the next couple of days blasting footballs at me and generally pushing the shrinking violet back into the pod, intermittently, whilst getting pissed in Fresher’s Week.
Despite what he said about the friendship, it was not long before he succumbed to my wily charms and I was invited to celebrate Nikki’s 18th and Neil’s 21st, down in Devon. I don’t know whether any of you had the privilege of visiting Lower Creedy, but it was a small portion of paradise. As if it had been lifted from Sussex and transported a couple of hundred miles west. Dogs pretending to be ducks. Ducks pretending to be dogs. Rogue budgies. Horses with a penchant for sitting on cars.
We even got to savour Mr Wendover’s peach wine extravaganza. I liked it, but Ross told me they were added to disguise the flavour of the cheap wine. Don’t belive that for a second!
The house was mentioned in the Domesday book, I’ll have you know. Way, way, way, way, WAY before Nita and David set up camp.
A few days before the party, Neil and Ross ended up sleeping in their car overnight, in Exeter. I can’t do the story any sort of justice, so I shall refer you to the email that Neil sent me.
“Jeez Baz, you pulled that memory out from the cobwebs…….i think it was a usual night out on the plonk to all the old favourite haunts including that esteemed establishment: ‘the warehouse’..
It started well enough but after the snake bite and black competition and then the concrete drink the Captain and I (having run out of options for floor space) thought it would be a good idea to sleep it off in the car rather than surprising the old dear because she normally locks us out anyway. Neither of us had much trouble sleeping in those day but it turns out the poor little tyke had to wind down the car window at about 3am to vomit, this made him a bit chilly so he dug the keys out from our secret hiding place (my pocket) and turned the cur on, revved the engines, and turned the heaters up full blast then promptly went back to sleep.
So Neil wakes up to a feint but persistent tapping which turns into a full on hammering once he realises how deeply asleep he is and the fact the engine is on. But he cant see anything because all the windows are misted up and the entire car is dripping with condensation. After wiping a small peep hole in the window an un-amused face with big black hat is peering back at me about an inch away….hhhmmmm. It takes me about half an hour to calm the policeman down, apologise for the multiple phone calls of complaint from residents about the car engine being on half the night and explain our situation and that we were in no way considering to drive but we didn’t have any friends and our parents were both away on a Christian missionary project.
He asked me to check the pulse of my passenger to make sure he was still alive and I reassured him that no problem my brother is normally that colour and sleeps in a semi foetal position with his mouth open drooling allot.
Of course Rosco missed the whole event.”
Happier times in the back of a vehicle
Anyway…
Our friendship eventually blossomed. He even came to watch me in a University production of Cinderella. I was keenly looking out from backstage to see if Ross had turned up. My co-star then pointed out a chap in the audience who was waving.
“I recognise that chap…. Oh god, it’s a Wendover”
It later transpired that my co-star had schooled with Ross and Neil and the whole Thespian subject became apparent.
“Do you know him?”
“Er… No, never seen him before in my life!”
It soon became clear that the Wendovers and the various affiliates – Joe, Ginge, Chas, Mr Maynard et al ran the playground.
We ended up being THE party flat amongst the 100 or so. Much to the dismay of the Hall Manager. A warden ended up taking early retirement, on health ground, as we caused so much trouble. We were eventually summoned to meet the manager and issued a fine. Which was doubled due to some rather blue language from the Captain. He was dragged out by Wizzy and I before our fine was tripled.
I was never a great fan of hockey, but it was Ross that convinced me to get involved. Eventually, in the second year, we found ourselves on tour in Amsterdam. At this point, Neil was sofa-surfing in our humble abode as he had either not planned ahead and sorted out a flat or did not do enough to secure a pass in the usual time – I forget which.
Thew Wendover brothers took me abroad and it promised to be a memorable occasion. All of us jumped back on the coach, once we hit France, but we were two men down. Ross and a chap called Roger were MIA. Despite protestations from our tour leader, I raced down the aisle, with Jamie Hamment, to find the two R’s. I eventually stumbled across a ring of giggling school exchange students and forced my way through to see what the commotion was about. I found the Captain lying on the floor, clutching onto another 24 Stella slurring his way through a lesson of the virtues and perils of 7am binge drinking. We eventually found Roger and returned them safely to the bus.
It was that same weekend that both Neil and Ross suffered from identical eye injuries. Neil got hit by a stray hockey ball, piercing his left eyebrow. Being an organised sort of fellow, he didn’t have any sort of medical insurance, so he went under the name of Ben Hawkes. He was eventually stitched up and returned to the party. Now, we all know Ross likes to throw himself into things. In this instance, it was a grand piano. So the family album was complete.
Sometime during the second year, Ross ran out of beer tokens. Without wishing to put his parents out, he secured a job at the pub across the road. We were the second closest house to the pub – a house that Ross and Joe chose.
The home of the deep fried sprout
We were also the closest house to Blockbuster videos. I lost the paper/scissor/stone and the account was put on my card. One of the rascals didn’t return ‘Wonder Boys’ and I ended up with a £106 fine and a £20 fine for a new DVD. A few years later, I was offered the chance to buy a DVD £3 for purchasing £30 worth of fuel. Wonderful! Except… the only DVD left was… you guessed it… Wonder Boys. I refused, seeing as I had funded the sequel.
It was a classic backstreet boozer. Drinks secured on the cheap, faulty wiring and all food deep-fried, including vegetables such as carrots and beans. He was the best barman you could ask for. You would order a double vodka and Red Bull and you would end up with a quadruple and more money that you started with. Best for the bank balance, perhaps not the health. He went on a few excursions with the bar team. Bigfoot, Scratchcard Pete, Catford Dave and Sambucca Simon.
It was this pub that hosted the Brookes hockey Christmas dinner in 2000. Ross was in charge of raffle prizes and had managed to secure a free kebab for the lucky ticket holder. Nobody came forward, so Ross gallantly took it upon himsef to use the prize a week or so later. To his detriment, I should add. Nikki was staying with us at that point, so she had his room and Ross was on the sofa (vacated by Neil!). Apparently it took him two hours to drag himself up the stairs to seek help from Nikki. A rather unhelpful lot of housemates either told Nikki to get out or “Ross is always sick”. In my drunken stupour, I handed Nikki a letter from the John Radcliffe and she found a number to call. They both returned the next morning, Ross having spent the night hooked up to a morphine drip and sucking on a small wet sponge for some liquid.
On the advice of my legal team, there is no proof to
link the illness of Ross to this fine eating establishment
Not the first time Ross has ended up in the casualty ward. During his fleeting stay in Brighton, he became an integral member of the local rugby team. I got talked in to watching him play in Bognor. I went for a stroll at half time and returned with about five minutes gone. It was only a little while later that I realised Ross was missing – which didn’t surprise me as he went missing in the first half – if you know what I mean? Nowhere to be seen!
I spoke to someone on the touchline and was told that a centre back had been taken to hospital with a head injury. A mad panic later and I found myself bombing along the motorway at about 40 miles an hour in my Vauxhall Corsa. The only problem was, I forgot to ask which hospital. I eventually found him in the Chichester A&E. By jove, the smell. A stinging smell of overflowing incontinence pads stung the back of my throat and compromised my vision. When I was sure that he was going to make it through the night, I ventured down to the party we were supposed to attend in Devon. A quick visit the next day, at Lower Creedy, was in order. We were met by a busy and concerned looking Nita telling us not to make him laugh, so I thought it was wise that I didn’t say anything at all.
After he graduated, he did return on two occasions. The first being a fleeting visit to my new house (my Uni stay was ‘extended’) to see Adam, David and I. We ended up drinking the student union dry and, not for the first time, we managed to lose each other. The three of us returned to our house in Divinity Road and Ross was certifiably MIA. It was only a frantic knock that the door the next morning that the mystery of his disappearing act was resolved. He had managed to bag himself a space on the sofa, at the home of Scadge. What soon became apparent was that he awoke in the early hours and did not have a clue where he was. The next 15 minutes, in the early hours, was spent screaming “Where am I? WHERE AM I?”, followed by a vomiting episode and departing.
His second visit to Oxford was, when I had graduated (!!), was a birthday party for an old friend. A group of us were wandering along Cowley Road, the following morning, eyeing up some grub, when eagle eyed Baz spotted a rather strange chap wandering across the street, complete with a handgun down the back of his tracksuit bottoms. I told my comrades and we set off in pursuit. It just so happened that we saw a police car drive past and proceeded to flag him down.
He soon disembarked from the safe haven of his wheels and joined us in the pursuit. In advisably, he bellowed “STOP! Police!”. The assailant then pulled the gun out and put it to his head. Before tossing it to the floor and fleeing. The five of us made chase, Ross, Scraf, Me, David and the copper. The next stage is a little fuzzy as the adrenalin had kicked in and we had covered at least 10 metres, so I was a bit puffed. It just so happened that I had bought some new leather soled loafers, so I was suffering a friction problem. The copper his a collection of bags containing old kebabs, I was lagging behind and David was shadowing the gang, so it was left to Ross and Scraf to make a ‘citizens arrest’. Exciting times!
I’ve been honoured to see a few milestones of his. Although I did miss most of his 21st. I was playing cricket that day and by the time we arrived at the pub, he was crying at the bar and soon fell asleep, not to be woken.
My favourite, apart from today, was his ‘passing out’ at Sandhurst. For the record, I was the last to pass out. Only because I went on some reconnaissance mission to buy cigarettes and forgot how to get back. I ended up in some department store and had planned to hide, when closing came, and sleep on a sofa bed.
Ross showed early signs of leadership. He lead the Wendover clan from the front, namely because he refused to retire from his buggy until the age of five. It has since become clear that he was conserving energy for his latter day pursuits and keeping up with SJ.
The Wendover men (minus Nico) in reverse rank order
Before the Queen acquired his services, he ended up in Brighton. Ross will tell you that he found work that happened to be closer to me, but I think the actual story is that he wanted to move closer and found work in Brighton. Anyway, he excelled under the stewardship of Jon Orrell. Fitted into Brighton effortlessly. Perhaps something to do with the fact he has an uncanny knack of disarming people, other than the Taliban, or a greater collection of tight t-shirts than Gok Wan. After a joyous spell in Brighton, it soon became apparent that he needed a new challenge.
News filters through that Ross can hold his beer
The army came calling or perhaps he found them. It was more a case of ‘Your Country Deserves You’ as opposed to ‘Your Country Needs You’ – although they clearly did need him.
I was invited over to a very grand Minley Manor for a drinking session. One of the wedding guests mistook me for an army chap. I told Ross that and he instantly told me that I would not have passed the hearing test. I said “Pardon?”…Although it later came to pass that I could as you can see a light flashing when the sound buzzes. Not that Ross needed it. His ears might be small, but they are incredibly powerful. The next day, after the army/wedding session, he sent me and Wizzy off for a walk, whilst he was packing for an excursion… or whatever they are called. Being a lovely day, we decided to head to the nearest pub in Fleet. Ross hadn’t warned us that there were going to be live exercises all day and we eventually stumbled across a group of very well hidden armed men pointing guns at us. Intentional or unintentional… you decide…
I thought, at this stage, I should talk about the loves of Ross’ life. I met his first. A small dowdy French girl. They were together for quite some time, but she eventually got written off in Brighton, of all places. Another couple came and went, until he stumbled across the most beautiful and sleek looking Italian. I was in Bristol with them both and we garnered much attention, but I am positive they were not looking at me. It soon became apparent that she was expensive and high maintenance and Ross was keen to get rid. He even tried to palm her off on me, at a price. Another few came to pass, but he eventually settled for his and my favourite. He would talk about her incessantly to those that cared and didn’t. He had a great collection of photos that he would brandish about.
I finally got to meet her, in Scarborough of all places. I rocked around the corner and there she was. Bathed in sunshine. A shining aura. A radiant colour and the most impressive pair of headlamps I had ever seen… I’ve never seen a campervan quite like it.
Who needs a Merc when you can have a VW?
I don’t remember the first time I met SJ, but I do know it was one of her dinner parties. From start to finish, my glass was full. THE most impressive hostess I have ever come across and I am sure you will agree that she has done a pretty good job of today. With SJs careful planning, Ross’ brute strength and the load sweat and tears of the wedding minions, I would suggest that it has been pulled off.
My pre-wedding tasks were pretty minimal. I volunteered for the pebble dash and the petal collecting.
On the pebble front, I can tell you for free that it was not an easy task. In front of you, you will find a carefully handpicked stone to act as your place card. I should remind you, at this point, that they are not for throwing…. even if someone does say JEHOVAH. Anyway… I set about my task with great gusto. It soon became apparent that any decent, flat, smooth, rounded stone was luzzed in to the sea for skimming. At times, it was like looking for a pork chop in a Bar Mitzvah.
The petal collection was a little easier. Due to my current career path, I have access to a rose garden. Come 20 hundred hours, the park is deserted, so I set about my task to collect confetti. The drying proved a little problematic. The first batch moulded over. The microwaving didn’t work, but the grilling worked a treat. I even have enough left over to make some Pot Pourri, Darling!
Lifting, carrying, having Nikki on my shoulders, strawberry picking, Nico watching – is it my shift yet? Testing out my Spanglish on Noelia has been an absolute treat.
Aye caramba!
SJ would like me to apologise on her behalf for the delayed appearance at the actual service. One of the reasons why the organist was playing double speed and missed the exit from the church. To be frank, I didn’t notice that he had gone…
What can I say about the bridesmaids other than the fact that they were/and have been sensational since start to finish. I am sure you will agree that they look absolutely fabulous. Not in the Saunders/Lumley type ab fab, smoking, messy hair and swilling vodka, but the night is yet young.
The bridesmaids get into the swing of things
The last few days have been the best, THE very best. I’d like to thank the Allens and the Wendovers for their hostility. Never before have I felt so engulfed in… sorry, hospitality, never have I felt so engulfed in kindness, friendship, love and understanding. They are all pretty cool, even by my standards. I have met too many great people to mention everyone.
I can’t talk about the stag do, due to the stag vow of silence, but I can tell you that Brighton was not prepared to be hit by the current and ex-British Army caravan club. I shall never forget wandering out of the house to find a half naked Dale sucking on a Pot Noodle tub.
Thanks to Russ for picking up my waistcoat and his all round organisational skills. I was half expecting him to fly the rings in. Actually, in an effort to make myself indispensable and much to the protestations of Emily, I acquired possession of the wedding rings. on Friday. As a gentle reminder, I told Ross I have them… You should have seen his face… “YOU’VE got the rings?”. The mobile networks buzzed and alternative arrangements were made, I handed them over to Maria (Mrs Allen).
Bridesmaid Emily played a hands on role
Back to Ross and SJ. I have not and will not meet a cooler couple in all my days. I remember being shown a photo of Ross and SJ in their swimmies, before a wedding last year, and said “You’re going to have beautiful children”. It was met by a strangled guffaw by both of them, but it shall happen.
I guess everyone has a missing part and without wanting to sound too much like a “Love for Dummies” Book, they complete each other. I still have that missing part and I shall be around all evening. Perhaps in the bar, or back or here, or mulling about in the courtyard… come and say hello. SJ is an absolute diamond. A rare diamond at that and I curse my luck that Ross met her first, as obviously I would have been at the front of the queue, otherwise, obviously….
Ross means the world to me. I’ve been very lucky to gather a great deal of good friends. The last few years have been a bit crap, and without the support, kindness, understanding, friendship and generosity, I don’t know what I would have done. Thanks to Ross, I have started to feel myself again… sometimes twice.
No, seriously. He has been an absolute rock and I thank him for putting up with me. I did find it very difficult when he disappeared of to Afghan on HMSS. If you are in the same country, you feel that you can protect your friend/friends. He was out there dodging bullets and facing IEDs daily. Not that I would have been much help over there, but you know what I mean. I guess he is a bit of a hero, to me at least.
You are all looking keen to devour the next course, so I shall leave it at that and wish you good health over the next few hours and onwards.
Please be upstanding.
It is an honour and an utter privilege that I shall I ask you to raise your glasses for the one and only….brand spanking new, Captain and Mrs Wendover.
NB This shall be updated with news of the wedding and some photos once I have a moment.
Thanks for reading and sorry for rambling!