At most of the weddings I’ve attended, I haven’t actually been a proper guest. Normally, I’m part of the band for the service, playing bass (because every wedding benefits from some low octave action). This involves sitting at the front of the church, which gives me a priveleged view of the bride and groom’s faces as they stand at the front. You catch some quiet touching and amusing moments.
The thing that usually catches my eye, however, is the father of the bride. You’ve got to feel for this guy. By the time he’s walked his daughter down the aisle, he’s shelled out a tonne of cash, put up with unbearable future in-laws, possibly endured a very awkward stag-do and had to come to terms with the fact that this kid in a cravat is soon going to be doing the bizzo with his little girl. Poor bloke, right?