Cupcakes and Camouflage

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Only a handful of days ago I was unaware of the concept of a “wedding fair”.

But like a frictionless seal who has slid off a ledge of polished ice into a crevasse of unfathomable depths, at the weekend I accidentally found myself in the midst of one.

The setting was a manor house on the outskirts of London – the type of place where secret societies probably gather on a Thursday evening to recite Egyptian poetry and explore the hallucinatory properties of UHT milk.

But the toastmaster standing at great wooden door did not ask for a password and I don’t think he gave me a secret handshake. Instead, he handed over a glossy card advertising his services.

Inside, a young woman in a bridal gown wafted through the rooms like the ghost of a wedding past. The uncanny atmosphere quivered to the pluckings of a harpist, who was also for hire.

Seats draped in white silk were laid out for a ceremony which would never take place. It was as if Walt Disney had hired Miss Havisham to design a theme park.

But the Apocalypse Now moment when any person of measured equilibrium would have the urge to wear camouflage and whisper “The horror! The horror!” was still to come.

Laid out on a table were an assortment of advertisements for – if my memory has a correct recollection of this terrifying sight – dental correction and plastic surgery services.

It is not geometric perfection which enchants but the expression of individual character, flair, panache and imagination.

It is bad enough that western society’s most wonderful brides are compelled to wrap themselves in starched ivory-coloured curtain material on a day which should celebrate their uniqueness. Even more horrendous is the notion that social pressures in the 21st century will send young lovers into the surgery to be remodelled in line with the harsh diktats of the arbiters of official beauty.

In the Hebrew story of Jacob, the young man is shocked to discover on the morning after his wedding night that he has been tricked by his crafty uncle and actually married the sister of the woman for whom he laboured for seven years.

Almost as great will be the dismay of the groom who lifts his bride’s veil to find that his wife’s legendarily cute nose has vanished. She will not be pleased, either, if he has had his ears redesigned to resemble those of an Austro-Hungarian dynasty.

The most splendid thing at the fair was the roulette wheel in an adjoining room showcasing evening entertainment.

In this dastardly game of chance there was more life than in the corseted universe next door. We need to escape these industrial fairs and rediscover wedding flair, powered by the hope, joy and light which has sustained humanity since the first flame of life.