The Wedding Night (The Conclusion!)
Hey folks. After spinning this yarn out over the last month I think we are in need of a handy bullet point recap. Here goes:
- A hotel fire door is locked shut preventing Naomi and I from accessing our bridal suite on our wedding night.
- A man we later nickname “The Beast” helps us gain access to our suite by ripping the fire door from its frame.
- The next morning I complain to the managers.
- Some bastard stole Naomi’s chocolates.
- The hotel compensates us by waving the hotel bill. They also include a complimentary lunch for two at the hotel and a free meal at the hotel’s sister restaurant.
And that’s where we shall pick up the story.
Naomi and I rock up to the Edinburgh city centre restaurant on the Sunday evening after our Friday wedding. I say “restaurant” but it’s more of a bar/ restaurant. It’s a low lit joint with a piano in the front window, quiet chatter, jazzy music and expensive drinks.
“You must be Mr and Mrs Liddell!” A waitress says as she approaches us. I’m a little taken aback that she knows who we are without introducing ourselves. We barely break stride as she leads us through a neat segue from bar to restaurant. A few customers sit with pints of beer at their tables but nothing else. They are all jeans and jumpers. Naomi and I are dressed up a notch or two more.
“Your table is right this way.”
She shows us to our candle lit table. I notice that nobody else has candles on their tables. Hmmm.
She takes our drinks orders and leaves us with our menus. The food looks delicious. Its just the kind I like; lots of rich tapas type foods, dips, deep fried seafood and great cuts of meat. We are in heaven.
The waitress (I wish I could remember her name) promptly returns with our drinks, notepad at the ready to take our order. She is a frothy mix of beaming smiles and five star service.
“Nobody else is eating tonight?” I ask regarding the other customers
“Oh, you are the only ones eating tonight. They had to bribe the chef to come in on his night off with a bottle of single malt whisky.”
“Wait.” Naomi says. “We have our own chef?”
“Yup!” The waitress beams. She is loving this.
She tells us that the story of our wedding night went around the company like wild fire, that she wasn’t surprised that such a botch up was made at the hotel and that she has little regard for her employers. She then does something a wee bit odd. She gives me a conspiratorial look.
“You can have whatever you want.” She says.
I look her dead in the eye.
“How far can we take this?” I ask.
“All the way.”
Three golden words.
She then slips back into waitress mode.
“So what would you like to start?”
“I can’t make up my mind.” I say to Naomi. We both laugh at the fuss I always make at my indecision when confronted with a menu. I’m the same every time.
Naomi looks at me with a smile and all of a sudden we are reading each others minds.
“We’ll have all of it.” I say.
“All of the starters?” She asks still smiling.
“Yes please, and make sure the chef gets whatever he wants to drink. Get a drink for yourself and the rest of the staff too.” I stop just short of opening up a free bar.
There never was a time of more richly deserved gluttony. Naomi and I had scrimped and saved (sometimes to ridiculous lengths) for eighteen months for our wedding. We had the meal of our lives.
Yet I can’t remember what I had for my main course. The booze was taking hold! I distinctly remember I had an ale, a bottle of their best red wine on the go, a spirit and a cocktail just on my side of the table. Naomi was having custom made cocktails and white wine. We lapped it up. The staff lapped it up. We were all having a ball. We didn’t sing and dance about it, we simply went full length into ridiculous indulgence. A serious case of gout could’ve only been a few forkfulls away.
Soon we were drunk. I’ll rephrase that. I was reeking drunk, Naomi was respectably squiffy and after a while the bar began to thin out. We decided the best way to end the night would be to invite all of the staff to drink shots with us. A load of us grinned our way through a weird coloured bottle of spirits and this is where my memory begins to fail me (not surprisingly). It was time to call it a night.
I have a foggy recollection of being in a taxi on our way home and then being back in our little flat where I sang loudly about an imaginary giant duck whilst taking a pee.
What can I say? I was happy.
To top it all off we were back at the hotel the next day for our stunning lunch which was served up with an expensive looking bottle of champagne.
“We are driving today.” Naomi told the waitress. “We would like to take the bottle with us.”
“I’m sorry we can’t have alcohol leaving the premises.” She said.
“If you could just have a word with the manager.” Naomi suggested.
The waitress disappeared and was soon back with us.
“Yes, that’s no problem Mrs Liddell.” She said.