THE WEDDING REPORT (*1)

(*1 Written by Maggie with footnotes by Martien, who of course couldn't refrain from giving comments)

We did it! We are now thoroughly married(*2), signed, sealed and delivered.

(*2 YAY!)

After a week of rain and cold in this alleged(*3) spring, Maggie feared that the shoulderless frock(*4) might be a tad coolish (the bride wasn't blushing, but blue), but the Netherlands' meteorologists were happily wrong, and the sun greeted us early in the morning. Martien scuttled off to his friends, Joost and Aldy, to get dressed in tails and tie (and a few other items of clothing, just to be demure). Maggie managed an uncharacteristic early rising, donned her makeup, the Frock, whacked some mousse in her hair(*5), and came downstairs to find that Martien was late... so indulged in some of that bizarre fluid that lacks the caffeine that the taste promises. Who invented that stuff, and more to the point, why(*6)??

(*3 Hey! We can't all have Australian climates!)
(*4 I'll say one thing: WOW!)
(*5 If what she did there was just a bit of donning and whacking, I wonder how she looks if she really goes to some trouble)
(*6 Yes... WHY?)

Martien arrived looking GORGEOUS(*7) and gave Maggie her bouquet, and they set off to Eindhoven with Martien's mother, Jeanne, and her boyfriend, Pierre, who drove at a pace only farmers can manage(*8). With a Terror Level of around 93%, we arrived at the City Hall, where around 40 friends and family were present to witness the Terror Level rise to 98.5%. A few ircers had contrived to drag themselves from their monitors: Steck, Bosshogg and Haribo(*9). They looked curiously like members of the Mafia, the significance of which we chose to ignore... but it does tend to confirm some of the more paranoid theories about #30plus. The actual ceremony was mercifully brief, but long enough to get a few tear ducts active. Martien said "Yes" and Maggie said "Ja"(*10)... and we were MARRIED!

(*7 harumph...)
(*8 Somehow we always need to remind him that this is NOT a tractor.)
(*9 Actually, Haribo was my colleague, and he was responsible for getting me hooked on IRC in the first place. Thanks, Haribo)
(*10 Well, I wasn't sure what I was going to say, and only managed something in between a 'Ja' and a 'Yeah'... Maggie's 'Ja' was a bit more resounding, as was her sigh after it was all done :))

A contingent of family and friends then travelled to Oirschot, to visit the family windmill for coffee (with caffeine! Yay!(*11)), cake and a photo opportunity. Martien's parents had their wedding photos taken there too, so we maintained the tradition. Oirschot is a beautiful little village, the birthplace of Martien's mother and father. It is, in fact the most beautiful village in the Netherlands... at least that is what Jeanne says, and it would be a foolish bride who argues with her schoonmoeder so early in the marriage(*12).

(*11 Yes, YAY!)
(*12 I argued :))

Next we moved on to Smakt (pronounced "smacked", but no adverse interpretation should be made of that fact), where we drank champagne, ate dinner (acres of the stuff), and Maggie attempted(*13) a speech in Dutch, with the aid of notes, prompts from Martien and a very tolerant audience. Martien's speech was bilingual (show off(*14)). Then we ate some more. And some more. These farming folk know about food. So we ate some more. And then we had the wedding cake, a 5 tier extravaganza.

(*13 For an attempt it was ongelooflijk goed)
(*14 Pfff.)

The official(*15) reception began at 7pm, when Martien, Maggie, Jeanne and Pierre did their impersonations of the royal family, much handshaking and smiling. Our grin muscles are only just beginning to recover, so we have decided not to smile for a few weeks, just to give them a chance. *grin*. The Dutch have a rather jolly variation on the Australian tradition of giving pop up toasters as wedding presents. They instead give envelopes containing $$$. Woo woo!!

(*15 Sigh... I'll admit it here... The Dutch are odd.)

After the reception was over, and Maggie's feet had swollen to three times their original size (but it was too late of course for Martien to decide that she was hideous and didn't want her any more(*16)), the party began. This involved a truly tragic imitation of dancing by Maggie(*17) with Martien Astaire, speeches and er... "performances", poetry and sketches by family and friends (yeah, okay, the Dutch are odd), and because the combined stomachs of the guests had now emptied by a few cubic nanometres(*18), there was more food. Additional ircers, Bongo and Jantje, and Jantje's non-ircing (really!) girlfriend, Heleen joined the festivities. Hysterical with exhaustion, we left the party at around 1am and moved off to our hotel in Venray. In retrospect this was a wise move, given that Martien's friends had entertained theirselves in our bedroom at home, filling the bed with styrofome and festooning the room with dropjes (Dutch sweets) hanging on string from the ceiling (the Dutch are weird, remember?(*19)). But at the hotel, we [CENSORED], [CENSORED](*20), and of course [CENSORED]... but don't tell anyone, okay?

(*16 Hey! Nice feet! :))
(*17 Rogers)
(*18 Mine hadn't.)
(*19 They also put our bed in the (roof)gutter, at least, they put the gutter under the bed, which I still am grateful for.)
(*20 [CENSORED])

So, it was a day of utter bliss, pleasure, happiness and ....food(*21). We are the happiest beings in the cosmos. Hurray for the net! But wondrous though IRC may be, and though we owe being together to it, we vastly prefer this real life stuff. In just a few days we will be reverting to bits and bytes and, once again.... waiting(*22).

(*21 And food.)
(*22 :()

See you all back online, or back in the flesh. With our love...

Martien and Maggie
(Mr Margaret and Mrs Codon)