2003 called, It wants its shirt back

Last weekend was one I've been looking forward to since I arrived back in the UK. I headed off to Stratford Upon Avon, birthplace of Shakespeare for a golfing weekend and FA Cup Final cocktails with some very good friends of mine - Rich, Les, Tom and Paddy. Collectively we were known as the House of Kwong after a nameplate on the house we used to share in Oxfordshire after University. 

It's something of a tradition for us to take off for FA Cup Final weekend for golf and gottles of geer. All are memorable and fun, a chance to catch up with the guys, talk nonsense for a few hours and have some convivial drinks in great company. We've been to Nottingham, Norwich, Bath and several other places but one of the more outstanding adventures we had was 13 years ago on this very weekend in 1993, we had a similar weekend on the Isle of Man which we went to, to play in a Football tournament.  I chronicled the various events, and it was eventful, and let you download the full report 'Manx Tales' for your delectation.  

I've also got The Great Gatsby on my mind. Not so much the book as Baz Luhrman's new adaptation starring Leo DiCaprio as the eponymous Gatsby. I've been looking forward to it since it was announced several years ago and now it's here, accompanied by a blisteringly good soundtrack. the themes and ideas of the greatest American novel come flooding back. Particularly one - The idea that you can't repeat the past. Or can you?

We're all older, heavier, more weathered and experienced but have we fundamentally changed? If so, how? 

The golf itself was tremendous fun at a club outside of the main town. Rich, the most diligent golfer in our group and previous winner of the Kwong Championship came to the fore but the battle for second was tight between the rest of us. I was glad to get through 18 holes in one piece, not having played for at least two years but a glorious birdie followed by two pars set nervous pulses racing until normal service was resumed and the only participants worried about my form on the course were the ducks.

We went back into town on the evening, taking care to note all the various authentic Shakespeare tie-ins including his genuine boyhood coach terminal and gift shop and immediately sought to recapture the evenings of youth in the company of various cocktail pitchers, bottles of foreign lager and something of a Kwong trademark, a round of BMW's.  Rod Stewart's tipple of choice, a Bailey's, Malibu and Whisky, as lethal as it is luscious.  The night ended in a surprisingly sparse Chicago Rock Cafe before we sloped back to the hotel.

I first began to doubt the veracity of my theory on the past when I woke up to paraphrase The Blackadder - feeling as if my head had a Frenchman living in it.  Two schoolboy errors of not drinking sufficient water before turning in and not taking paracetamol to head off the runaway hangover express that was heading your way. 

We went back out at lunchtime to eat and take in the first football match of the day. I had conspicuously bought a new shirt for the event, specifically similar to a blue and white Hawaiian number I used to rock in the early 2000's, an effort to create a kind of like a sartorial time machine to see if the act of recapturing your dress could recapture your thoughts and feelings of a particular time and place.  This one was holed fatally when my good friend Paddy complimented me on my 'Alfie Moon' shirt.  

More football and frolics followed including a solid hour of power which involved drinking five bottles of blue WKD within the allotted time frame, another theme-drink of lost early middle-age. A great cup final followed by a really nice Indian meal before we made our way back to the hotel  definitely feeling older if not wiser.

So what did we discover in our 48 hours on the banks of the Avon?  That for all the silk shirts and pink suits on Long Island, the past is a feeling, not a place, and definitely not one that can be reached by conventional means. And would you want to repeat it at all? Notorious party animal Keith Richards thinks his own reputation is somewhat overblown and admits that he rarely drinks/smokes more than one accelerant as you cannot create the initial buzz and rush so it is a waste of time, money and energy doing what so many others do and trying. 

I did realise, surrounded by some of my closest friends and fellows I've shared many drinks, meals, nights, insults, ideas, heartbreaks, setbacks and victories with, that the past is not fixed, it's evolving and exists only to bring you to the most important time in your life. Right now.  Your ultimate duty is to make the most of this time and surround yourself with the very best and most important people, ideas, goals and dreams right now.  This time will be past soon enough, and while you might not remain Young and Beautiful for long, your memories and friendships will, if you give them half a chance. 
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Wedded Bliss

Last week my cousin Ross got married to Karina, his Latvian girlfriend at a small castle just south of Edinburgh, Scotland called Dalhousie.  It was the first time Vince and Stacey had been North of the border and my first time for a while too.

Rail is the most romantic of transportation, that much we know, although lugging two large suitcases onto an East Coast mainline train, trying to find your seat in a busy carriage and get a little boy settled all before you pull out of the station is a bit of a passion killer but this dissipated once we were underway and heading north. The journey itself takes in some beautiful countryside in County Durham, Northumberland and the border country including Durham Cathedral, the Angel of the North, Newcastle and Berwick themselves before running along the East Coast to Edinburgh. In a thoughtful way, the train staff did their best to acclimatize us to Scotland by leaving the air conditioning on so when we got to Edinburgh Waverley, we were literally and figuratively chilled.  Some of the other attendees had spent some time in Edinburgh itself and gone to the Zoo and other attractions but its a hilly city with no real central transport system so the only way to get around is on foot and in this arctic Spring we're having, not one for delicate Southern constitutions to bare.

My dad met us at the station and drove us south to the castle via that rare mix of great Edwardian and Victorian grand buildings and pebble-dashed grey tenament housing.  The Castle itself is set in some beautiful picture book grounds which would tick any spotters guide to Scotland - rugged landscape, wildlife, a stream, battlements.  The rest of the family arrived in dribs and drabs throughout the day and congregated in the added sun lounge which was attached to our room. As superfluous in Scotland as a screen door on a submarine you may think but as one of the few rooms with a TV, we were a destination.  This also meant going out to stock up on other Scottish curios such as Irn Bru for the kids, Sweetheart Stout, my late Nana's favourite drink and a nostalgic tipple for the older drinker and the pear cider that is now so much in vogue. It was also a chance to use up the Scottish bank notes I'd collected since we arrived. They are very colorful and more reminiscent of Euro's than traditional British notes and while they are readily accepted in the North of England, you can run into problems further south despite being perfectly legal currency. Once everybody had caught up we settled down and two became three as Vincent decided our large bed was a better proposition than his camp bed next to us.

We rose the next day to a traditional Scottish cooked breakfast of black pudding, fried mushrooms, sausage, scrambled egg and haggis. Well I did, Stacey looked on aghast as if her husband had become one of The Walking Dead.  After retiring and getting dressed in our wedding gear - simple black suit for me, lovely dress for Stacey and a little suit and shirt outfit for Vincent who spent the rest of the day proclaiming that he looked like a businessman to all and sundry. A piper heralded the couple and we followed them down the staircase into the Chapel. Pipers are one of those things that are fine in theory and far away but the closer the presence the more uncomfortable you are aurally and physically. A bit like a Tom Jones concert.  The Chapel faced the gardens through it's arched stained glass windows and a simple, efficient service was enlivened by a small snow owl flying down and bringing the wings to the best mans' glove. Fortunately he declined to leave his own good luck message on patrons and flew away home.

Everyone hung around, chatting, corralling kids and drinking until the bride and groom re-emerged, Ross now sporting a kilt but still not able to out-glam his new bride. The meal arrived which was also nice Scottish beef before we had the speeches and we had a little time before the evening festivities commenced.  Wedding discos have come on a long way in the past 10 years certainly. Now the DJ can download any track you want which makes for an eclectic playlist of modern Atlanta-based Krunk and RnB to standby wedding classics like YMCA and Karma Chameleon.  We decided to turn in about 9pm, Vince was exhausted and his mum and dad weren't far behind either.

I decided to treat myself to another Scottish staple of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon the next day, again Stacey took the safe cereal option before we drove back leisurely to enjoy what was left of the weekend and to prepare Vince for going back to school and Stacey for going back to the States at the end of the Easter break.