‘Are you late or are you just taking the Micky?’

WE COULD have blamed the torrential and persistent rain bucketing down in Toowoomba, but we would have fooled no-one.

One of our mob tied the knot last Saturday in a wedding ceremony held under a marquee and above what could only be described as a quagmire on our mate’s son’s acreage in Glenvale.

You know it’s wet and muddy underfoot when the groom and his best man turn up in gum boots

Of course, being held on a Saturday, the wedding interfered with our religious observances for that day of the week so we had to make alternate arrangements.

No, we don’t observe Saturday as a religious day per se but we do religiously observe Saturday as our day of punting and sledging.

Now, the wedding was set for 1.30pm so we believed we had plenty of time to get to the club up the road from the wedding venue for a couple of pre-nuptial beers and put on our bets.

However, nothing with our mob ever runs smoothly – or to time!

It was approaching 1.30 when someone suggested we get a move on or we’d be late.

“Weddings never start on time and more importantly, it’s Micky’s shout,” explained one of our number who, for sake of anonymity, we will just refer to as Gaz.

To explain, Micky has a tendency to miss out on his shout, whether deliberately or inadvertently (we suspect the former over the latter) and, being great believers in inclusivity, we like to make sure Micky does his share of shouting.

What made Micky’s shout all the more pleasing for the rest of us was that “happy hour” had just finished so he would have to pay the full price of beer when those who had gone before him had discounted drinks.

This alone made sticking around for Micky’s shout essential.

So, after knocking back the last round at the club, all through which Micky complained about having to pay full price and how he suspected he’d been “set up”, we ordered the Uber for the trek up the road to the nuptials.

We arrived to find the grounds of the property thoroughly soaked and boggy, thanks to guests driving in as close as they could get to the marquee.

As we approached said marquee, tiptoeing through the mud, we could hear the unmistakeable sound of applause and cheers coming from within.

“Is that for us?” Gaz asked facetiously.

“I hardly think so, and I think we may well have missed the main ceremony,” I replied.

Used to being late for functions – and often for similar reasons as on this occasion – we tried to slink into the back of the marquee unnoticed.

But we were never going to get away with it.

It was bad enough that we were running late, but due to the rain and flooded highways, other mates of our mob who were booked to sit at our table hadn’t been able to make it to Toowoomba from Brisbane, Gold Coast and the Sunny Coast which left our bare table looking even more deserted.

The five of us tried our best to sneak to our table and take our seats without being spotted but it was as if the whole gathering had been waiting for us to show up.

“Where have you mongrels (insert whatever description you find appropriate here) been?” seemed to be the collective line of inquiry from the throng.

“I bet you’ve been up the road at the club having a punt and a beer?” the good groom asked.

“Well, yes …,” we replied.

“But it was Micky’s shout!” With grace and a smile, the bride and groom accepted our explanation.

After all, they know Micky too.