Worth every second, it was, and every penny. Here's why.
I met with Steen - the man with the best face in the world. He met me at the airport. In itself, that's a pleasure I think I've had only a handful of times, and this is one of very few times in the last ten years that I've been met by someone I know and love who's come there just for me, willingly and happily. What a joy that is! And god, we talked! There was so much to say and hear, so many great ideas and juicy-rich experiments to be done. Now to find a way, and now to do them. We need scientists, actors, strangers and a space. This is a project that needs to be done. Let's do it! And this is a man I'm proud to call my friend. It makes me do a little dance to know he is. That's better even than an airport meet and greet.
I came to Copenhagen to witness the wedding of my wonderful old friend Jochen and his fine husband, Geir. I missed our mutual friend's wedding to do something else that was very important to me (and that I'm mighty glad I did, but still there was a cost I didn't understand). I saved the day with a larger-than-life cardboard penguin, rescued, with permission, from a shop. That's not the point, but thank god for him anyway. He stood in their living room for a fair while, watching over their marriage, I like to think, though I wasn't there to witness it. At the time, the whole concept of marriage as a positive thing was alien and untrustworthy to me. I didn't go to a wedding until I was 36, possibly 37, and even then, I didn't know the couple. I was an imposty +1 - a stranger witnessing a strange act - made no less strange by the fact that the celebrant and all the wedding staff, without the knowledge of the happy couple, had come dressed in togas to mark the village's water festival that happened to be sharing their big day. I remember, in particular, the woman doing most of the talking (it was in French), wearing a white toga and a big black bra, one side of which (I'll leave this to your imagination), was unencumbered by any touch of toga, which draped across the other side. Thank god for bras, I thought, and for a very understanding couple.
Jochen's wedding was much realler to me. Filled to the absolute brim with love and loved ones; a whole clan from Germany, a raft from Norway, some from Sweden, England, Brazil, even.. and half of Denmark's theatre profession (it was a Killing/Borgen/Bridge-fest - I learnt what little Danish I know from these people and their subtitles!). I learnt that in Denmark, the tradition is to lift up the groom, remove his shoe and cut the toe off his sock. The two grooms duly underwent this procedure. And when a lot of people tap their glass, the couple have to kiss. And that a hoorah in Denmark is three short ones (ra ra ra) a long one (rraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa) and then a short, very loud one (RA!). And that you have to dance before midnight. And everyone has to have cake, or the marriage is doomed. No pressure.
Best spot at the wedding: a knitted Spiderman finger puppet... oh god! Completed with sewn-on web bits and a back 'skirt' - open at the front, so it looked like legs, but full length at the back, to keep it on the finger. Just brilliant. Its arms were like little caper buds (which reminds me - I ate Greg's capers and must replace them). Entirely ill-advised as far as spiderly climbing goes. Brilliant.
It was a beautiful, easy-going, love-filled affair. Without fail, people praised not only their beloved friend, but the shape of them since meeting the man they had just married. And this is the key... in the love stories I collect (and oh, I do), this is what I hear, again and again... that this person, for the first time ever, found someone with whom life was simply better; the relationship itself made sense, and the person they become when they're with their love is bigger, better, braver, more enriched. It's not a question of getting anything, as such, but giving, growing, learning, trying out.
I love the Jochen that I see with Geir even more than the one who has always made me laugh with his delicious mean streak (pictures of me with Cheezl-debris clinging to my teeth, blown up to MASSIVE on a screen and narrated with wicked laughter, the constant search to create photos where Claire, our mutual friend of penguin fame, looks half the size she is - and she's already small). I love him more because I see him fattened up with love. Not actually fat, the opposite in face, but filled, and happy and doing things he'd 'never do' without the slightest touch of sacrifice (he did a speech that made us cry, he did a dance with Geir). They may still live at opposite sides of the planet, but they love each other well and that's what counts. And now they're married. That counts for something too.
I got the stories, too, from Javier, who'd travelled from Brazil, about how he 'knew' and from my politician-faced actor friend, whose name has already slipped, whose wife was met at Geir's theatre, and who changed it all for him. I've heard it time and time again, this story, told in different shapes and with different trappings and from this I know that though I've never felt that ease and rightness yet, it does exist. Maybe it's been there and I haven't noticed it. Whether it ever shows itself or not, from what I've seen, it's well worth waiting for... or if not waiting, then just not settling. It's all for good to work at a relationship - none of these love stories tell a perfect tale of constant ease and never arguing... far from it. But that it's different is a thing that every single one will say, with different words, and when it works, it works, and it's worth hanging out for, Spiderman arms or not.
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