Yogi is one of my friends I have known since time began; we went to pre-school and basically grew up together. He is, in complete contrast to me, a really friendly person. The type that everyone gets along with and no-one has a bad word to say about. His only problem is he's a little too nice if anything, and when it came to girls he always ended up in the "friend zone". Maybe at high school he was carrying a few extra pounds making him even cuddlier (it's why he's nicknamed Yogi) but to look at there was never really anything wrong with him - I guess maybe he never gave off that sexual vibe or he was always too nice to push his luck.
So, it was a bit of a shock when I found out via Facebook, while I was on tour a couple of years back (complete mis-use of satellite technology), that he had started dating a girl called Hannah. For one thing; we had all been close buddies for years. Hannah had started hanging around us when she got to high school - Yogi and I are a couple of years older, and I suppose it was cool for her to hang with older guys. This was fine as we all lived really close to each other and were friends outside of school, but looking back it did give Hannah a couple of points on the respect scale because, at that age, older guys are more interesting. When we left school I joined the army, but because my training was relatively local, I came back often and I'd always be sure to find the two of them drinking in the local pub - Hannah normally with another guy, and Yogi making everyone laugh because after a few whiskey's he really was quite a comedian.
This went on for years, six years? Christ, six whole years. Hannah had always had a very healthy taste for men, and cut through them with the sort of efficiency you would normally expect from a guy. She would be in relationships, or a fling, or happy enough with a one-nighter if the mood and drink took her. I really respected that about her; she never bowed to that social expectation that girls had to be chaste - although funnily enough one of the few times I've been in a church was because she wanted to be christened, or confirmed I think they call it when you're older. Either way, Hannah ate men up and spat them out with the sort of ease that intimidated many young men in that area. I had slept with her myself a couple of times, and while it was fun, it just didn't seem right. We were really friends, to the point that fucking each other after a night of drinking didn't faze us and we would laugh about "the time when..."
I had seen Hannah with Yogi together several times over the last two years - not anywhere as often now there were two ongoing warzones to get involved with - but it still surprised the shit out of me that they were an item, let alone about to get hitched. We had all laughed at how weird it was, but the fact of the matter is that they simply fell in love. To me, it felt like the end of an era because they were so happy they'd started to settle down, and I was one of the few people that knew Hannah was pregnant. Part of me wished them well, but part of me wondered who I'd go drinking with now those two were going to have responsibilities.
On the face of it, thinking this way was a little selfish, really I was just being pragmatic about coming back on leave only to find strangers in the local pub. I had been noticing it more and more, as my age group all shacked up and their priorities shifted to family life. Now these two were destined for the same. I felt, nostalgic I suppose, as I stood on the bridge feeling the suns heat finally start to cut through the morning chill. Much of this event, for everyone I suspected, would be about days gone by. Hannah and Yogi had invited so many of our old school friends that I had not seen for years, and it would be interesting to see how everyone had faired since we all parted ways. My mind wandered over all the memories in a wistful way that left a smile on my face and in that moment I felt a deep sense of contentment. Time slipped away and it was only when I started to hear people milling around the house that I decided it was time to get myself ready.
An hour later and I was checking my uniform in a full length mirror that stood in my small room. Although compact even by hotel standards, the room had lots of character; including a very low doorway to the en suite which I had caught my head on twice already. I mused that this would be particularly deadly when I returned with a good amount of alcohol in me - regardless of the warning sign on the beam. Everything else was very well laid out, and relatively tasteful - only the mod cons really spoilt the antique look of the room which I thought was a shame. Some people really just cannot live without TV no doubt, but seeing as it was there I had flicked it on to catch the news while I dressed.
I regarded my reflection, and while satisfied that everything was as it should be, I never really could get used to the ceremonial uniform we used for special occasions. It always felt a little fake to be dressed up smartly, a pretence that the world at large expected and the army was happy to oblige with traditions of pomp and ceremony. My real uniform stank and was so grime encrusted I needed a new one by the end of every tour, but that was the one that I liked to wear because it was, in my mind, what a soldier is really about. I couldn't run very well in the shit I had on, but Hannah had pretty much begged me to wear it and I supposed multi-terrain pattern wouldn't be that helpful in the photos.
I made my way to the bar as there was still another hour before the wedding was due to start. Hannah had intentionally arranged to have it in the afternoon so she had plenty of time to get ready and the guests had enough time to travel to the venue. Quite a number of people were already there, many of which I knew and some I was related to. I nodded my hellos as I worked my way up to the bar. An older man struck up conversation about our military efforts in the Middle East and how he was proud of our armed forces and the general "cause". I politely agreed not caring for a long debate about my friends and I getting blown up to free people who didn't seem to care for their own plight. People always assume soldiers are madly patriotic and automatically believe everything their government tells them, but the truth is we are no different to the rest of society, some think, and some just follow.
Either the old guy realised blowing smoke up my arse doesn't turn me on, or maybe his family stole his attention, but somehow I am left standing with my back against the bar and an iced whiskey in my hand while I surveyed the throng of snappily dressed people. The drink chills and then warms as I sip it and one of Hannah's uncles comments it's a bit early for "the hard stuff". I just laugh and tell him I'm only drinking whiskey because I handle beer like a girl - which happens to be true, but he takes it as a joke and moves off and leaves me to watch the people.
My problem with weddings is that a person is required to be nice, and this comes quite hard to me because I am something of an introvert and my personality doesn't lend itself to small talk. I struggle to feign interest in people whom I find uninteresting, and just cannot carry off that easy laugh that seems so effortless for other people when somebody else cracks a lame joke. If it's funny, I'll laugh along like everyone else; if it's not then I just think I sound fake. Looking round I can see a good deal of fakery going on; there's the pretend voices of civil discourse, and the very English "weather" conversation. People telling one another how nice they look when quite clearly last year's dress seems a little tight this year. Everybody in the room is pretending that the crying kid really isn't that annoying, and that no-one wants his parents to just take him outside.
I take a walk into the courtyard, which I find really very well designed. It's light, and sheltered from the breeze - so warm it's almost continental in temperature. It's also where all the younger people have decided to hang out, and here at least, the affair seems much more relaxed. A couple of lads that I recognise as my youngest brothers friends start talking to me about the pool table in another room and challenge me to a game. They remember the days I used to spend playing in the pub and are keen to test their skills against me now they've improved. I laugh and say that I really don't get to play that much anymore and I see their faces drop, so I agree to give them a frame or two later on. Judging by the rate they're drinking I estimate they'll be lucky to still be standing upright, let alone potting balls.
