Barley and Will get married
Is there a better way to return from a long trip abroad than taking a short trip abroad to watch your sister get married on an incredible mountainside overlooking the Amalfi coast?
No, didn't think so.
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
No, didn't think so.
I landed back in the UK from Argentina on the Tuesday afternoon. On the Wednesday I fought off the jetlag and pegged it round the shops in Guildford buying some wedding essentials. You know the sort of thing: deodorant, shoe polish, a shirt, a book of chat-up lines.
On the Thursday morning my alarm trilled at 3.30am and I got ready to face what the world would throw at me on a Thursday morning at 3.30am: namely, a tired climb into the back of a cab and being driven through the dark Surrey roads to Gatwick airport.
Now before I bore anyone to tears by recounting several hours spent in an clone English airport, I shall quickly skip the intervening time between arriving at the airport and departing it. Except to say that Pret A Manger really do make some of the best sandwiches on earth.
Whenever I go away - whether for a weekend in Europe or 5 months in South America - I like to travel light. So while the thieves at Easyjet and Ryanair spent the summer subtly inching up their baggage charges, I decided to stick two fingers up at them by taking hand luggage only.
However, this thrifty little plan had its drawbacks. Well, drawback. While the rest of my family travelled in comfy summer clothers, I opted to travel in my suit. In the middle of a sweltering summer.
Stuffing the suit into my bag would have creased it beyond repair, carrying it in a suit bag would have been an extra item of hand luggage, and checking a bag into the hold would have meant I succumbed to The Man. So I wore it.
Before I mention the downside, here's the upside. Wearing a suit in an airport means you are treated as a Higher Class of Airline Passenger. Shop staff call you 'sir', airline staff open doors for you, security staff let you take a bomb onboard. It's great.
The downside is arriving in a steaming hot country wearing a dark navy suit and trying to negotiate an unfamiliar provincial airport carpark with several family members and their massive items of luggage. Yes, that's you - mum, Molly, Clare.
We were met off the plane by a man whose name escapes me, but who looked like Italy's version of Lovejoy. Think smooth, think neatly-clipped mullet, think twinkling smile.
He walked the Foges family into the searing furnace of a southern Italian summer's day and told us to wait while he went and got the cab. Ten minutes later we were mercifully being cooled with air-con inside his high-topped people carrier.
He walked the Foges family into the searing furnace of a southern Italian summer's day and told us to wait while he went and got the cab. Ten minutes later we were mercifully being cooled with air-con inside his high-topped people carrier.
We had decided against hiring our own car on the advice of my sister, whose forewarnings of the 'nightmarish' Amalfi coastal roads proved correct. We left Naples airport and drove for a couple of hours south towards Amalfi.
We arrived, 1,678 road bends and several within-an-inch-of-your-life scares later in central Amalfi and were met by sister Barley and groom Will. Barley was the human version of a swan: calmness personified above water, paddling like crazy below.
She and Will had the onerous task of sorting out various wedding-related tasks, being not just a prospective bride and groom, but a taxi reservation system, accommodation concierge and restaurant planners too.
So after a brief hello we left them to it and checked into our perfect little b&b halfway up one of the winding narrow alleyways that back up the hill from central Amalfi:
The next couple of days were spent chilling out on the beach, eating ice cream, having great meals and catching up with family and friends:
All in all, it was a blast. Seeing my family after months away was great in itself, but you'd be hard pushed to put on a better wedding than Barley and Will did.
Raise your glass to the happy couple:
We arrived, 1,678 road bends and several within-an-inch-of-your-life scares later in central Amalfi and were met by sister Barley and groom Will. Barley was the human version of a swan: calmness personified above water, paddling like crazy below.
She and Will had the onerous task of sorting out various wedding-related tasks, being not just a prospective bride and groom, but a taxi reservation system, accommodation concierge and restaurant planners too.
So after a brief hello we left them to it and checked into our perfect little b&b halfway up one of the winding narrow alleyways that back up the hill from central Amalfi:
The next couple of days were spent chilling out on the beach, eating ice cream, having great meals and catching up with family and friends:
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| First of many drinks for the happy couple |
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| Ken and Jenny join the party |
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| Beatrice and Clare |
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| Flora and Iris play in the sea |
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| Family meal in a great setting |
The night before the wedding we moved from our base in Amalfi up to the agriturismo to spend a couple of nights in the stunning hilltop wedding venue:
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
As I write this it's now almost a year on so some of the details are a little hazy, but the Big Day was one of the best ever.
The morning: all hands to the pump preparing decorations, seating, music, flowers:
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
The afternoon: quickly getting suited up and running up the mountain in a ball of sweat to greet the guests; waiting for the bride to arrive with a nervous Will...
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
....watching her being walked down the aisle by Chris...
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
And enjoying a brilliantly-devised, fun wedding ceremony which included readings, prayers and thoughts from close family and friends.
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
Will looked the part in a snappy suit, Church's brogues and a polka dot tie - while Barley's dress was a stunner. You never want a guest's outfit to upstage the marrying couple at a wedding, but there was no danger of that happening here.
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
The one blemish on proceedings was when the person in charge of the music accidentally swiped his finger across the screen of the iPod during one song, meaning half the congregation started singing again from the beginning, while the other half carried on.
And that person? Me.
But that cock-up aside, it was pretty much the perfect day I'd say. After the ceremony we had some pics taken by the talented photographer Elton Mogg:
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
...before moving to the outdoor eating area for the dinner, speeches (Chris and best man Harry Young doing great jobs) and a few drinks:
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
In the evening the wind picked up, but that didn't stop everyone from heading to the outside impromptu dancefloor to throw a few shapes, mingle and get merry:
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
Julian and Molly getting their groove on there.
I won't detail the hill-climbing/bush-falling/face-bruising/taxi-puking shenanigans performed by a certain unnamed guest, though they know who they are. No(t much) harm was done and her face healed in time for her own wedding a fortnight later.
Oops - did I just give it away?
An unforgettable wedding day ended in the early hours with myself, John, Chris and Mark couched on the sofas overlooking the Med hundreds of feet below:
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |
The day after, Mr and Mrs Wíden had organised a hangover-soothing boat trip along the Amalfi coast. It was an ideal way to shake off the limoncello shakes:
The final night of our trip ended with a big (new and extended) family meal down by the harbour and then some of us went to watch a live band in the square:
Their style seemed to be a mix of north African/eastern European/Italian, but it worked.
Raise your glass to the happy couple:
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| Elton Mogg Photography 2011 |