new meshes with old

Today stands as the commencement of the next stage of my life. Today I began my Master’s programme at University of Surrey.

The last ten days have been testaments to the old, in that a former friend from University of Leeds married.

So now I’m sat between the two experiences, accumulating nostalgic thoughts like drifts of snow, wondering two things. Firstly, what does the future at Surrey hold? Secondly, what does the future hold for my friends in their lives? Am I included?

I know that second thing sounds rather self involved, so let me explain. On top of spending time thinking about others in the classically anxious “do they think about me… what are they thinking about me… OH MY GOD what are they thinking?!” I also think about them and their lives, and at what point our two currently separate lives will once again converge. I like to wonder what people’s weddings might be like, or what kind of families will be created in the future. (For reference, I am not crazy. This waffle is leading to the next paragraph.)

In the last ten days I got to see such an event actually take place (told you so). A dear friend was wed to a dazzling bride. His story is a beautiful one and I feel it deserves telling here.

For our University course, we had to spend time abroad, in Germany. My friend choose the work option, at set off to a town called Heilbronn to become a handy “Praktikant” (a.k.a lackey). During his time there he met a girl. They dated for the time he spent there and got along very well. The year came to an end, and my friend had to leave for England, the girl had to stay. The next year was spent with him travelling, by car, to and from Germany to spend as much time as he could with her. Similarly, he’d be driving to the airport to collect her every free chance she had to travel (she even hopped into a module lecture that we had on German film). I’m sure there were the doubters around them, there always is with such distances, but they stuck at it, and when he graduated back in 2007, he was straight back out there, taking any available job so he could be near to her. My wife and I married in 2008, and they attended. He drove the 12 hours across with her to attend. It was clear even by then that these two were destined to be the sweetest pair the world had seen, and not 7 months later, a dainty little letter fell into the letterbox. A German wedding, in September (thereby combining the grape harvest for some fabulous wines!).

September arrives, and, as if we were emulating the honour they gave us, we drove the journey through 5 countries to watch two people become one couple.

The ceremony was beautiful, the Standesamt (the register office) puts its’ English equivalents to shame:

Heilbronn Standesamt

The couple arrived, in a vintage English Triumph, humming as they parked near the building. As we waited for the previous party to clear, there was an opportune moment for photography, and in that moment I caught one of those glimpses that sometimes appears. A glimpse of true love, care and commitment:

The happy couple, click the image for a larger version of sweetness!

The ceremony was sweet, the reception was glamorous. As I move into my new future, I look towards theirs, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, that we’re all walking into the future with smiles on our faces.

“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.” Louis de Bernières

celebratory collisions

Writing about crashing parties poses yet another problem for the writer. But I figure there must be some experiences I can relate to, and then render into some kind of tidy over arching statement to reflect upon. So revelations of posting structure aside, let’s dive in.

Personal experiences of crashing parties are somewhat limited. As a spotty bespectacled teenager, the parties I attended were for the largest part, ones that I was invited to. This didn’t detract from the events, all such parties were pretty darn fantastic: being 16, in a safe household setting, limited or no adult supervision, sausage rolls and pork pies blending into the stack upon stack of alcoholic beverages prepared for the occasion. Indeed, most enjoyable (I’m sat here just having a 10 minute regression into my childhood whims). There were so many “events” that helped shape this person into the furry russian creature you see before you. Vomit control, relationship development and negotiation… It all helped contort my mind and personality into its pre-university specifications. Universtiy came, and brought with it (as previously blogged) a wealth of growth in my confidence, which in turn led to the attendance of parties. Some of which could have been “crashed” parties, although for the most part they were never invite only parties in the first place. Crashing parties, I feel, has a swath of definitions. Well, two at least:

crashing parties (phrase)

1. to attend a social gathering or function to which one was not invited to, but was completely aware of.

2. to attend a social gathering or function to which one had no idea about.

Both definitions have clear issues. Let’s explore them a bit. The first can have very interesting consequences, all of which can be affected by many factors. The classic example being the uninvited wedding attendee, who then faces an evening of stares and abuse while they slowly drink enough to provide the obligatory drunken rant that befits their position. They cannot escape this. It is a prerequisite of uninvited drunk people to frustrate and annoy as many people as possible. It also generally raises the pleasure levels of the party tenfold (especially in England) because once the rant / revelry has taken place everyone steps up a gear to ensure that it doesn’t ruin the event for the host. It’s a fabulous way to amp a party up a notch.

Truly, crashing a party you have specifically not been invited to is challenging. It depends on the reason behind it, but in many cases crashing such parties generally never end well for the crashee. By going they open themselves to the fearsome “angry glare” from girls present and the nonchalant “I’m ignoring you” from many others. Although generally there will be someone to talk to, usually this will be because that person has problems of their own, and is looking to share them, and their life story over the two bottles of lambrini that they have managed to procure. Two words: Oh dear.

Crashing a party of which you had no previous idea of poses a very dangerous threat. You are entering a location where you have completely NO idea of what you are walking into. That’s a problem in itself. To further highlight awareness of this problem here’s a list (YAY) of case scenarios that could happen as a result of crashing parties of unknown origin:

A. You notice what seems to be a fancy dress party on your street. With it being October, you figure its an early Haloween party (there’s a red ghost at the window) and dress up like a ninja (hiding facial features for the easy crash). The door is open, so you wander in to the front room to find out just how very wrong you are…

October's AGM Meet. Ooops.

Turns out the Grand Dragon was wearing red that night and now you are in a room full of the Klan, dressed as a black ninja. Hmm. Do you take on the room in a Jackie Chan style rage, hopping around balancing on tables and catching vases? Or do you try to use your ninja stealth to tread silently out. of. the. room…

B. You see a steady stream of people entering a house, where it seems there is also a marquee established in the rear garden. There is music playing, and the party seems to show promise, especially compared to the last crash. You opt away from the fancy dress approach this time, it will attract too much attention. Instead you opt to play to your strengths in conversation and wit in order to grease your entry point (eugh). So you cruise on in. It seems remarkably quiet in the building, so you grab a beer and.. a canapé? Hmm. Odd food taste, and slightly expensive but hey, it’s a PARTAY! You meander on into the marquee to see everyone watching as two people walk toward you. All eyes zone in on you as you realise you’ve walked in on a civil wedding service. Ah. Jackie Chan moves definitely not an option, you scream “THIS ISN’T MILWAUKEE!” and run for your party going life.

Milwaukee! Marquee! They sound the same right?

C. Things have not been going well. Klan members and Wedding goers aside, you think “hey they were freak accidents. It can’t happen again right?”

Yes. You talk to yourself. So what.

You ponder your options and decide that the best way to avoid these situations is to stake your targets out a little longer than previous attempts. So you go cruising in your Pinto, seeing Homies as you pass (little do you know they’d probably kick your lily ass). You spy a party. In a quiet neighbourhood. No marquee. Hmm. Let’s play it safe though. We park up with our Nikon D3X Professional Camera (we’re scoping remember) and look through the window. You see and snap the following. Music (HOW?!). Teens. Alcohol. Dancing. Foodstuffs. Streamers. No, repeat NO adults. Definitely a party. You put the camera down and go to the door handle of your car, just as you notice a car pull up in front of you. Which is flourescent. With blue lights. Looking at you, and your Nikon. Then looking at the party house, where the party has hastily disappeared, and only scantily clad teens (those club get ups eh?) are now visible. Ninja moves? NO. Screaming? Probably not going to help. You settle and adopt the facial expression of someone who after trying so so hard just to have some fun, has realised that the world just hates them. F*** my Life.

Your face looks like this. It's over man. You didn't mean for this. We understand.

So. There you have it. Take these points of advice and learn from them. Crashing parties is bad. Well, crashing Klan meets, Weddings at exactly the wrong moment and being suspected of voyeuristic paedophilia is bad, but you get the point.