North Devon or Bust... To Wed or not to Wed.

So the big day approaches and Hazel, my beautiful and dearest sister, is about to marry her gorgeous and handsome beau. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, nothing actually…

A few notes to get you in the mood though.

Mad, 80 year Old Grandmas with filthy mouths, who whitter through services and make unkind comments to helpful Granddaughters, should be shot!

Priests who warn supportive sisters that they must show behaviour appropriate for a church should expect to be reminded about child abuse cases being covered up. Fortunately supportive sisters are able to bite their tongues.

Fathers who drone on and on and on, while managing to say nothing should expect to be told to shut up, especially when they managed to embarrass the Bride. 

Older sisters, who are asked to do a reading in Church, will be mildly surprised when the Groom’s Mother likes it so much, she cries and asks for a copy of the poems.

Older sisters will grow more and more surprised when lots of people comment on her beautiful and well performed reading!

Older sisters will nearly cry when beautiful newly weds thank her for her reading and give her a present.

Flower girls should not be so sweet and lovely and then have tell off the brides sister for being silly, even though they are six and she is nearly forty!

Drunken younger brothers should not try to use a wedding as a cruising place to pick up his sisters unmarried friends!

Drunken old lesbian Aunties should not accumulate around the Bride's young lesbian sister, like Priests around an Alter boy. It is creepy and disturbing!

Hotel waiting staff, who try to smother a laugh, when asked by the Brides sister to slap the brides poorly behaved brother, shall be tipped.

Best Mans speeches with that many Knob gags will cause tears of laughter from every one.

However, before you can get to the fun bits, lets deal with the getting there first. My Brother Mez phoned at Midnight on Thursday to say that his friend could not drive them down due to her spraining her ankle and not being able to drive. Cue him begging for a lift from us. Sure enough he turned up the next morning with plenty of time to spare and looking a little worse for ware, having just been made homeless!

With all of our clothes ironed and packed, all of our toiletries packed, my crate of make up packed and my brother crammed into the car, we headed off to North Devon, a place rumoured to be a hive of incest, sheep farms and hillbillies with more than the usual allotted number of toes, fingers or eyes!

Now the journey there is one that we have made several times in our old faithful car Toyah, the Toyota Corolla. She has nice manners and drives very well, even up the steepest of North Devon hills. However, today I felt like doing a bit of driving, having driven only three times before and still being some way from my test. Once Carol had got us safely away from the Motorway I took to the controls. Fear has a smell and it is the smell of fouled underwear.

Carol drove us safely the rest of the way, Mez tried to let the horror of the last few minutes pass safely away from him and I let my heart beat fade back to a mere black metal blast beat!

Arriving at the farm, we parked up and unloaded some of our stuff and relaxed in the garden, Carol photographed some amazing butterflies and I worried about hillbillies while Mez chatted with family inside the house. The cats played and the day was beautiful, what a time to be in North Devon and away from home.

The hour of practice approached and we were soon bundled into the car again and off to the church for the practice service…

Now you should by now have an idea that I am not at all the most girly of people, I ride motorbikes, I listen to extreme black metal and my favourite footwear is my old brown walking boots. For this trip I was wearing my Snow camo bike trousers, my old brown walking boots and a my Marduk shirt. I looked every inch a brick hard dyke!

The Vicar looked at me with disdain, I was not his usual type of parishioner, if anything I looked more likely to burn the church down than want to come inside and listen to a service. However, I was polite, friendly and my usual cuddly self. The two darling little flower girls, my sisters God Daughters, smiled at me and giggled as I waved at them while they sat bored on the pew as the Vicar went through the rules with my sister and Dom.

To be honest, I wanted to keep my mind off the religious ceremony that was going on in front of me and also that man making my pregnant sister to get down on her knees in worship of an invisible man who lives in the sky, struck me as some what wrong. So I pulled faces at the flower girls and they giggled and laughed very quietly, hurting no one and in no way getting in the way of the discussion going on at the front.

The Vicar then called for me in regards to my reading. I was asked if I wanted to practice and I said that I was fine with it and he simply showed me where I would go to read it. He then added that I was to show the respect becoming of a church on the day. To be honest, I was a little bit incensed; after all, fiddling with kids is really not my thing and I am not keen on Alter boys or any kind of boys! Grrrrrr…

Back home to the farm and we got lost, the Sat Nav was tying to take us back to Bristol, in a vain attempt to get me away from religious men in frocks and the local Hill Billies, strumming away on their Banjos. Once home though I retired to the bed room to sort out my bits before an early night and a restful sleep.

The next morning we awoke bright and early, not to the gentle sound of birds singing or bees buzzing, but the droning of my Grandmother and father talking and giggling, only it was not morning, it was still night time, being only half past five! We managed to get back to sleep and were woken up again at seven by Grandma and Dad still chatting like loons, only my Dad had now added Elvis style singing to the mix!

Once washed, dressed and had half a pound of make up applied to my face I was ready for the day’s proceedings. Carol looked beautiful in her Skirt and top outfit, her pretty red toe nails showing through her open toed shoes. Had she not been my girlfriend already, I may well have asked her for the first dance. As it was, she complained that with my four layers of different coloured lip stick, I was refusing to kiss her, knowing that I would leave smudges every where.

We arrived at the church and waited outside for a while, various people turned up looking well dressed and ready for the wedding of the year. Dom although looking beautifully dressed, was as cool and casual about getting married as if it was just an ordinary day. This is just one reason why I know that he is the perfect man for my sister.

Finally we were all asked to enter the church and take our seats. Once again the Vicar asked me to ensure that my reading was appropriate, I reassured him that it was a selection of the finest knob gags and he pleaded with me not to make it so. Ha ha, the power was now mine. Dress boy wandered off to talk to the family of the groom and escape the lesbian harpy threatening to make knob gags in his church. I sat with my mad Granny and listened to her rolling off the mildly offensive phrases as she spoke to me in what ever gender she wished to apply and casually referring to both my Step Mother and I as over weight. She was to whisper and comment on the whole day and to be honest I stated wishing that I had brought the sticky tape with me, to tape up her mouth!

Your Author and Step Mother

 Hazel arrived and was more beautiful than I have ever seen her, My Dad held her gracefully on his arm and she was radiant. Only an utter fool would turn her down today. The hymns started and I found that I was in a minority group of Atheists, but the ceremony went ahead with out a hitch so to speak. Finally the rings were swapped and Hazel was married to Dom and they shared their first kiss as Husband and Wife. I was then called to deliver my reading and had chosen two lovely poems, an Inuit Love Poem and Wedding Advice by Jane Wells from 1886. The rest of the service followed and we were allowed to leave, to the sound of bells ringing out.

Signing the wedding certificate

The reception was at the local Golf Club and once again we got lost in Darkest North Devon, our fear of Hill Billies and being made to squeal like piggies prevented us from asking the local three eyed sheep farmer for the way. However we soon found where we had to be and headed for the club, screaming up country lanes at speeds top rally drivers would be proud of. Crunching to a halt on the poor surface of the car park we got out and sprinted down hill to the pavilion. Just in time to hang around for an hour and a half, doing nothing but chilling out in the sin shine and relaxing with a cool drink. Perfect.

The dinner started and Carol and I were sat together with Mez, Vikki and her chap Chris. We also had Hazel’s future Brother in law with us and we talked mountain bikes, fast bikes and adventures. He drank a bottle of wine to himself and got slowly merrier, were we really that difficult to talk to? Mez was his usual playful self and at one point I asked a passing waitress to slap him as she passed. For a tiny second she looked concerned and then started to laugh before running away.

The speeches would follow the lunch and first up was my Dad, with his usual style, he waffled and wandered, telling bad jokes and making us either laugh or cringe.

 Through it all though shone his pride in my sister, like a lighthouse on a stormy night, even if it was in a desert.

Dom’s speech was short, charming and witty, his graceful delivery was perfect and again the most obvious part was his love of my dear sister. 

He also chose this time to give out gifts to the various people that he and Hazel had believed had been of help during the wedding. I was surprised and honoured when he called out for me and Hazel handed me a gift to say thank you for my reading. As if asking me to do it was not honour enough. The beautifully wrapped box contained a delicate and pretty silver watch. I could not believe that they would do such a thing.

The Best Man had obviously spent some time working on his speech and his delivery was perfect, his jokes hilarious and his heart warming stories were lovely. 

This was the way that a Best Man should be and a series of Knob gags were finally delivered. After the speeches, I was suddenly surrounded by a group of elderly lesbian women, all of whom approved of my choice of dress and collection of poems I had read out. Dom’s Mum had taken my copy of them and the gaggle of dykes wanted copies. Bravely I retreated and told them to e-mail my sister who could forward them copies.

The rest of the day then turned into the entertainments and coffee drinking. A magician wandered around showing us tricks, a Dj set up his disco and a band set up their instruments. Carol and I wandered off to get changed and chill out away from the noise for a few moments and then bumped into Hazel who was once again being photographed. A few snaps with us together and then I was off once again, having walked Hazel back to her wedding.

As day turned to evening we slowly grew quieter (except my Grandma who continued to be abusive, rude and hilarious, with out ever realising she was doing it!) and more tired and eventually after a buffet meal we retired to the car and the drive home.

Step Mother and Grandma

To Hazel and Dominic, I wish you the very best for your marriage, for the best of health for the baby you have on the way and for years to come and may your lives together be as happy as the day you declared your love to us all. I love you both dearly and will hold you in my heart for ever. 

Exmoore and back in one day for a Hen Party

My sister is getting married next month to her lovely chap and I know that it will be a wonderful day for them both. I have never seen her as happy as she is at the moment and I am actually quite looking forwards to the event. However before a wedding there is always a Hen Party.

Carol and I were invited to Hazel's farm on Exmoor for the Garden Party and decided to take the bike to aid getting through busy summer traffic and because we just love riding Sylvie together. She has wonderful manners and great road eating abilities, but by heck does she need a new set of seat pads. I think both of us had a sore back side by the time we got home last night.

The journey started out smoothly enough with a quick sprint to the motorway, however, our first stop was at Taunton Dean because I was seriously hurting due to a previous injury and Carol nearly lost her cigarette tin out of her pocket on the motorway. A quick stamp around the car park was enough to ease my sore bits and once again we jumped back on Sylvie and headed back out onto the M5 for another blast down the three lane. When Carol is in the Pilot's seat, Sylvie has her other ECU in place and is kicking out her full 70 BHP, so cruising down the motorway at 105 is easily possible, if somewhat uncomfortable. In not much time at all, we were signalling our desire to exit the three lane and head onto the Tiverton road and take a blast into the country side. Blast being the operative word here, side winds, cross winds, head winds and tail winds seemed to buffet us about gently, but then that is a fast road and Carol knows how to make progress safely and effectively, even if sometimes I wonder just how she can make the bike do what it does.

Riding pillion with some one who has that degree of control is a beautiful experience, the road stops being long straight and boring and instead becomes a playground of swooping corners quick bursts of power as she over takes another slow moving van or truck. I can't tell you how long it lasted, but with both us hungry we had to find a place to stop. The Log Cabin was the place and the food was first rate. For less money that you would spend in a Motorway services for a mass produced corporate burger and fries, we had a lovely lunch and lovely cuppa.

While stopped at the Log Cabin, we met Kelvin, a local biker who was out on his two week old Triumph street triple. We shared the typical biker nod as we pulled in and then as we were about to settle down to eat, he got ready to go. However being bikers and this is the real difference between bikers and drivers here, he did not just drive off, stopped to say hello and share the passion of our obsession. A quick chat about bikes and riding and we even managed to get a photo of him and his bike next to Sylvie. Where ever you go Kelvin, keep it shiny side up and enjoy the eternal road. Always nice to meet another biker on the way. Once sat down again with our food and drink we enjoyed the burning hot sunshine and just relaxing as the day progressed. This place was beautiful and stopping here is highly recommended and not just for the food.

Back on the road and with only twenty miles to go, Carol was in energizer mode, the bike was handling beautifully and the miles were rolling by. Next stop Barnstaple for check of the map. Finally and with the days heat now becoming fearsome, we got with in a mile of Hazel's house and here is where things got the better of us. Carol likes technology, but does not always trust it. I like Technology and tend to think it knows best. Carol's phone has Sat Nav built in and in its clipped tones and direct directions it directed us close to Hazel's house, but then it got lost and sent us in a circle twice before Carol worked out the way. However, I thought the machine was close and went back a little to where it thought we should be, only to enter the most horribly narrow and gravel covered lane on the whole of Exmoor. Once again, I learned that Carol knows best.

We pulled up at the Farm and rode into Hazel's garden. Both Carol and I were exhausted and jumped off the bike as soon as we rolled to a stop before stripping off the baking hot riding gear. From here on it was an afternoon in the hot sunshine and can you guess who forgot the sun cream? Yes, it was sat on my book case at home, unused and sorely missed.

In the garden were chairs, a Bar-b-Que and a butt naked Butler. Brave boy that he was...

We also had a Swingball and as the afternoon turned to evening a fun competition started up. The fiercest competition of the day was between my Stepsister Sarah and Hazel's PE Teacher friend Jo. Wimbledon had nothing on these two and great fun was had by players and spectators.





Pretty soon though we found a kindred spirit in Rae, another biker and love of two wheeled mayhem. Bikers just have a way of finding each other and once again the talk turned to the joy of two wheels and riding in huge groups. Rae and Dionne had recently ridden the Plymouth Mega Ride, an event I last took part in as far back as 1995. Carol had one of her old badges from Kent Custom Bike show, dated 1987, not that she was showing her age.

As the sun started to dip to the horizon, Carol and I went for a walk into the countryside and with the hope of seeing one of the illusive Barn Owls, a true favourite bird of Carol's.

The lanes were lovely and warm and the wind of earlier in the day had stilled completely, the barley fields were silent and still and walking hand in had was so romantic. Even if I let my West Country Roots show through...

The sunset over the barley field was beautiful and we stopped to watch for a few moments, only to turn around just in time to see a big bird of prey take flight. I think it was a Buzzard, give that it was huge and luckily Carol managed to snap a photo.




The journey home started at about midnight and the roads were blissfully empty, the air was delightfully cool and Sylvie's engine sounded like a gentle growl in the silence of the country side. A quick stop at Barnstaple for fuel and once again we were back on the fast twisty A-Roads for a blast back homeward. The engine screamed under Carol's expert hand and we shot missile like along the road, over taking the occasional car and blasting along joyously. Tiverton came upon us all too quickly, even with our sore back sides and then we were increasing speed as we took the motorway to Taunton Dean Service station. A quick stop for a hot drink and for me to put on every spare item of clothing we had to stop me shivering in the wind blast and we were back on the road heading for home. Leaving the motorway and hitting the road into Weston was a blessed relief after the blast of the motorway, but pulling up outside Sylvie's garage was a final relief. Sylvie was put to bed and carefully locked away, with promises of a check over the following day.

Another brilliant day for a Curious Adventure and an adventure greatly enjoyed. Final thoughts though, Damn, I love my wife and our Motorbike.


Dedicated to my sister Hazel, wishing you a long and happy life with Dom, with all of the things you deserve to make a happy life together. With love from Carol, Jayne and Sylvie.