I'm not sure quite when my interest in weddings began - I have never married and, certainly, once I grew out of monogamy, never wanted to. But I'd probably talked about it in the office once or twice, because whenever we got a query in from a reader about a weird wedding, it got punted in my direction.
This time, it was a letter from Scotland: a dominant woman was marrying her sub, and wanted to know how much kink they could get away with during the wedding ceremony. I had previously answered a few similar letters, and was aware that the answer is: it depends on the specific registrar you'll be using as some are more open-minded than others. My standard advice also included the fact that people can, if they wish, do the legal bit in the morning and then have the ceremony of their choice elsewhere at a later date. (This is entirely true, still - if you want to exchange your personally-tailored vows in the nude/up a tree/while being suspended from hooks, that's up to you.)
In this case, there were a couple of extra points in the letter which interested me a little more. I had some Scottish mates at the time, who ran a fetish club, and the domme mentioned she was a regular there. I suggested she ask the club promoters if she and her sub could hold their special ceremony in the club. (I am not sure how much of a 'thing' collaring ceremonies were in the UK at this point - 1997, very early days in terms of kinky internet use - I wasn't aware of them and neither she, her sub, the promoters nor I ever used the term.)
She also mentioned that the two of them had met via a personal ad in the magazine, which made G, L and I all go 'Aww' - and so I added a PS asking if they wanted their wedding written up by us.
Unsurprisingly, I got a reply to the effect that they would love to have me attend, so I booked myself a train, having dug through the archives, located the advert one of them had placed three years previously and popped a photocopy of it into a nice frame by way of a wedding gift.
The couple were legally married in the morning, at the town hall, in latex and corsetry. Some clever individual (can't remember if it was me or not) had come up with the perfect descriptor - a 'Rocky Horror Style' wedding, which meant that the registrar, staff and even the chap from the local paper all treated it as slightly saucy fun rather than 'Eeek, perverts, arrest them!'
The 'real' wedding was scheduled for that night, at the club, which was opening an hour or so earlier for the bride, groom and invited guests. Those of us who had been there from the start spent a pleasant, sociable afternoon chilling out at the not-quite-weds' flat, and as time went by, I noticed that there was a small potential problem. The friend who had been going to conduct the ceremony for them was clearly quite unwell, and was slumped on the sofa going greener and greener.
No one could ever accuse me of being backward in coming forward: I drew the couple aside and said, look, he's clearly not too well, would you like me to be understudy? Given that, sort of, I represent the mag you met through, which kind of adds a little 'official status' - and I'm good at standing up and talking...
This was accepted all round as a Great Idea: the order of service was handed over to me for a quick read-through, and the poor queasy non-celebrant was able to go home to bed.
It was a lovely ceremony. The line I will always remember is 'You may now recieve your choice of ring,' as they had decided that the wedding would be commemorated/sealed by a Prince Albert piercing for the sub, and had a body piercer standing beside me, ready for action. As someone who does not love needles at all, I found that a lot more challenging than speaking in public (and stared very hard at my script until it was all done.) I also remember a performance artist who used fire poi giving the couple what she called a fire blessing with her flaming whatnots.
I don't think whatever happens at Windsor tomorrow will be half as cool as that was, somehow.
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