Changed da house,
Changed da look.
BTW, my bathrobe's usually pink
and we don't have a fireplace.
Other than that,
it's pretty accurate...
Psst...click the words above to navigate.
Best viewed, unfortunately, in Internet Explorer.
Monday, November 22, 2004
~ Hyatt Hiatus ~
It’s not too often that I get to have high tea at a chi-chi establishment, so today was a real treat in itself. Cathy, the Centre manager decided to toast her wonderful staff of 2004 by treating us to afternoon tea at the Hyatt Hotel, which really seems to resemble the Raffles Hotel in Singapore in its old money grandeur, just reeking of good breeding and generations of esteemed horse riders, cricket players, lawn bowlers and women smothered in lace and silk ruffles, with genteel parasols never meant to meet the rain.
And here’s Cathy, with her motley crew of six, cheerfully disturbing the peace and scoffing hors d'oeuvres with their barbaric, bare hands. Good fun.
The topic of weddings came up after the announcement of upcoming nuptials on my end, and the rest of the crew got to hear of Cathy’s wedding in 2000. I’d already heard the story, but I really enjoyed hearing it again because it’s in many ways just horribly fun, and very, very Cathy.
Cathy, you have to understand, is a very bright nutter. I think the most defining attribute about her is that she loves people. Everyone starts with her as Darling and ends as Gorgeous. She’s got a laugh that shakes the building and she is extremely tongue in cheek. When teaching a course on Communication Tradition, she found she had to condense the medieval period, the Enlightenment, post-modernism, Freud, Nietzsche, Darwin etc. within about 8-9 weeks. The only way she could find an enduring strand in the myriad of philosophies was to relate each school of thought to sex. So she did. Freud was easy. By the time she came to the Enlightenment however, it became quite a circus. But that’s Cathy. She is a very charismatic and talented ringmaster, and everyone loves her for it. She is a kick-ass boss, to boot.
So it’s no surprise to all of us that her wedding would have been quite a spectacle in its own right. First of all, she held it on her family’s farm in Yass, which is a small town near Sydney. That meant she had to arrange the transport of everything, from freezers to the reception tables and crockery, out to the farm from Sydney. As it was also wont to be a full-on party, she had to arrange accommodation for every guest because they were all going to be falling-down drunk by the end of it.
Nick and Cathy had envisioned their wedding to walk the very thin line between finesse and absolute tackiness. Her wedding invites consisted of a set of 6 postcards of Yass in gaudy pinks and oranges, with the first one of her and Nick sitting on the front porch of the house – her with curlers in her hair and a cigarette sticking out the side of her mouth, and him looking less for wear himself.
Him: You wanna?
Her: Yup.
The rest of the postcards looked like the usual tourist tripe of Yass, except Cathy and Nick were also bouncing around, blowing kisses at each other.
The best part would have to be the furniture, though. Cathy had hired old props from the Sydney Opera House and just strewn them all over her paddock. It was therefore a mash of chaise lounges (upon which her grandma lazed on), huge sunflower seats and gigantuan seashell chairs, amongst others. If it had rained – and it didn’t – she wouldn’t have had a hope in the world of using them. I am dying to see the photos.
Her guests were understandably confused by the invites, and didn’t know whether to dress up for a hoe down or not. I don’t think it mattered, because there wasn’t a chance that any outfit would have been appropriate. The bride and groom wore a gold frock and a suit respectively, although the bride did arrive with aplomb. Her rather inebriated sister drove her in on a ute (the vehicle, not the tribesman) and promptly lost the groom’s ring. Altogether memorable.
It’s a wedding I’d love to have been a part of, but would never want as my own because neither Tony nor I would ever be able to pull that off with any measure of finesse and recklessness. Out of all the weddings I’ve heard and read about, this one would really have to take the cake.
And here’s Cathy, with her motley crew of six, cheerfully disturbing the peace and scoffing hors d'oeuvres with their barbaric, bare hands. Good fun.
The topic of weddings came up after the announcement of upcoming nuptials on my end, and the rest of the crew got to hear of Cathy’s wedding in 2000. I’d already heard the story, but I really enjoyed hearing it again because it’s in many ways just horribly fun, and very, very Cathy.
Cathy, you have to understand, is a very bright nutter. I think the most defining attribute about her is that she loves people. Everyone starts with her as Darling and ends as Gorgeous. She’s got a laugh that shakes the building and she is extremely tongue in cheek. When teaching a course on Communication Tradition, she found she had to condense the medieval period, the Enlightenment, post-modernism, Freud, Nietzsche, Darwin etc. within about 8-9 weeks. The only way she could find an enduring strand in the myriad of philosophies was to relate each school of thought to sex. So she did. Freud was easy. By the time she came to the Enlightenment however, it became quite a circus. But that’s Cathy. She is a very charismatic and talented ringmaster, and everyone loves her for it. She is a kick-ass boss, to boot.
So it’s no surprise to all of us that her wedding would have been quite a spectacle in its own right. First of all, she held it on her family’s farm in Yass, which is a small town near Sydney. That meant she had to arrange the transport of everything, from freezers to the reception tables and crockery, out to the farm from Sydney. As it was also wont to be a full-on party, she had to arrange accommodation for every guest because they were all going to be falling-down drunk by the end of it.
Nick and Cathy had envisioned their wedding to walk the very thin line between finesse and absolute tackiness. Her wedding invites consisted of a set of 6 postcards of Yass in gaudy pinks and oranges, with the first one of her and Nick sitting on the front porch of the house – her with curlers in her hair and a cigarette sticking out the side of her mouth, and him looking less for wear himself.
Her: Yup.
The rest of the postcards looked like the usual tourist tripe of Yass, except Cathy and Nick were also bouncing around, blowing kisses at each other.
The best part would have to be the furniture, though. Cathy had hired old props from the Sydney Opera House and just strewn them all over her paddock. It was therefore a mash of chaise lounges (upon which her grandma lazed on), huge sunflower seats and gigantuan seashell chairs, amongst others. If it had rained – and it didn’t – she wouldn’t have had a hope in the world of using them. I am dying to see the photos.
Her guests were understandably confused by the invites, and didn’t know whether to dress up for a hoe down or not. I don’t think it mattered, because there wasn’t a chance that any outfit would have been appropriate. The bride and groom wore a gold frock and a suit respectively, although the bride did arrive with aplomb. Her rather inebriated sister drove her in on a ute (the vehicle, not the tribesman) and promptly lost the groom’s ring. Altogether memorable.
It’s a wedding I’d love to have been a part of, but would never want as my own because neither Tony nor I would ever be able to pull that off with any measure of finesse and recklessness. Out of all the weddings I’ve heard and read about, this one would really have to take the cake.
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