Wedding Etiquette

So yesterday was the day we'd all been waiting for. No not Venus V Serena. But a gorgeously gorgeous family friends' wedding. Number 3 wedding for a family with 4 children, the wedding had been much anticipated as the groom was bringing his family and folks over from mid-west-America and 99% of the family hadn't been further than the county border as far as I could tell from various chats I had with various 'doodles, so to come to Engerlaand and see Bucking-ham Castle and go on the Metro and gaad, all the guys here are so like friendly - it was going to be a lavishly British event.
London Route Master buses to take us to and from the church, gaad, is this church like really 2 million years old? And, gaad, these buses are like so bumpy? The return journey had us drinking copious amounts of well chilled champers and admiring the sunny landscape of Kent and S.London. Then back to Greenwich, gaad, its like so cute here. Where the garden was robed in a white marquee and barricaded in with tables heaving with more champagne and wine and fizzy water and waiters and waitresses hopping around with plates of amazing nibbly foody things. And then there was dinner, 3 courses of good food, tables groaning under wine and salad and vases of flowers - the marquee looking like a magazine shoot it was so perfectly delicious. Happy chat all around the tent. Then speeches and cake cutting and photos and first dance to the theme tune of Juno and then lots of twisting and rock-n-roll and strapless dresses at risk of falling to the floor as R-E-S-P-E-C-T got the dancers like, really dancing.
So amid this joy and beauty, love and devotion I had two conundrums.
Conundrum 1: the even more gorgeous people who had not exactly volunteered, but agreed to look after Mol & Liz were in fact looking after one ill Mol who developed a temperature over the course of the day and night. So I was getting very high on extremely drinkable champagne, whilst texting my friend back in the real world and wondering how irresponsible I was as I flung my shoulderless dress (and myself, in the dress - I didn't get so drunk that I ripped my own dress off and flung it around carelessly - that'd be bit of a show-stealer from the Bride...) around the sweaty (but good sweaty rather than Underground sweaty) dancefloor. I know when I feel ill all I want is my bed, my hot water bottle, my paracetamol and my pillows. So I know also that a 6 year old with possible swine flu (yes its going the rounds in our respectable neighbourhood - its true. Despite the embargo on revolting infected plague dirty victims they are still dripping in through the safety net and thus, infecting US, the clean unsuspecting...) is at risk of becoming very moany and wingy and sad if she's not in her own bed with her mummy and her bear and her pillow and the familiar sound of her parents not talking to each other downstairs. Anyway. Gorgeous angel-helper-friends reassured me that I was to enjoy myself and let them take care of the sickly 6 year old. So irresponsibly I took them literally. And forgot (mainly) all about my possible swine-flu-victim daughter.
Conundrum 2. What is the etiquette for sitting next to the most dreary conceited uninteresting/uninterested man in the room of 200? After texting (under the pretext of ill daughter) to both my sister in law and my husband to save me "oh my god I am next to the most boring man alive what do I do?" I think my drunken drivel says, I took the situation into my own charge and wrapped up my one-way-unrequited conversation with "Fred", so boring I can't even remember what it was about (something to do with taxes I fear) and got stuck into Gareth on my left, who was from Silicone Valley San-Fran and was much more interesting and engaging. Or so I told myself. Hell, nothing could've been worse than "Fred" and his round double chins, with a pink wobbly endy-chin-bit, and his sweaty (more like Underground sweaty) complexion. He was there with his wife so I didn't need too feel bad that no one would ever love him. Some one does. (I wonder what it was like sitting next to her? Maybe that explains the two people with their head stuck to their plates of mashed potato on either side of her?)
I have one final memory of possible faux-pas-behaviour - not so much of a conundrun... Which took place on the gaad-these-are-cute-and-bumpy Route Master. After a couple of glasses of champagne I was feeling confident enough to make contact with The Americans. So I got chatting to an uncle of the grooms'. Predictably the talk turn towards the fantastic awesome wow-inspiring new political situation in USA... and I naively said, well, so great, Obama?! Amazing! You guys must be so ecstatic! The curt reply indicated that the conversation was going no further "Not all of us voted for Obama". And thus ended that particular relationship with the Americans. What a loser! God, doesn't got the President he wants so is STILL sulking! So me and my brother in law hailed the waiter and got stuck into glass no.5 of champagne. Wow. The Kent country side was ravishing.