Patricia and Wayne's Wedding: the untold story (part 1)

Paul and John and I had just walked back and forth across Salisbury with our bags for the third time before we finally found the Corn Market Inn: our hotel for the week-end. It was over a pub which also served as the reception. Loud 90s techno music was being spun for an enthusatic audience of two, so we had to yell at the bartender.
" we have a reservation for tonight" which is why I wasn't initially concerned by his look of incomprehension.
I did become concerned however, when it became clear he did understand what we said but just wasn't expecting us. I think he said something like 'I don't think so'.
The old man sitting at the bar had to explain that ownership had changed in the last two weeks --I think it was after I said, 'but, I just called two weeks ago'. to which the old man at the bar said- 'there's a hostel down the road.'
I knew about the hostel down the road, but had not even considered staying there because I had decided the last time I stayed at a hostel that I was too old to be staying at a hostel, not to mention the thought of having to get ready for the wedding at a hostel made me want to cry.
apparently the old management had left and taken the reservation book with her just after I'd made the reservation two weeks ago.
Then Paul said to nobody, 'I just booked a few nights ago'.
In any case, they found us rooms and they were actually quite nice. I was chuffed because I managed to get 10 quid knocked of the room rates until Paul pointed out that the price on the sandwich board outside was 50 quid and so I had just managed to wrangle the actual price of the room. (humph)
Off we went to see Wayne and Patricia at the pub for a pre-wedding drink.

( I should mention that on the train to Salisbury, Monique had immediately gone in search of the drinks cart. I thought this was a highly positive sign for the rest of the weekend. When she came back with some tins, there was a stirring from the rest of the passengers and almost immediately a guy charged up the isle to ask her where she'd found the cart).

Friday evening was fun, but we were all quite sensible. Paul and James went foraging for fish and chips, but were then locked out of the pub. Those of us still standing were allowed to stay after hours and drink despite it being past the license hour. Apparently this is called 'lock-down' or something and it's technically legal because the owners can claim it's a private party.
But Paul ended up breaking up the party when he tapped on the window and Wayne tried to let him in, despite the bar owners yelling at him to get out. It was all for the best, really, 'cause we were all cosy in bed by a respectable two or so in the morning.

SATURDAY

The plan is to rent a car and go to Stonehenge. This falls through, so instead James takes pictures of us holding a postcard of Stonehenge.
We go to the cathedral. It starts to rain. (it was that weird sideways kind of rain).
We go and see the Magna Carta (one of the copies). it stops raining.
We make stupid jokes about wedding nights and alternative word choices for my reading and then stop when we remember we are at the cathedral.
It rains some more.
James and Monique leave to get ready for the wedding.
It starts to pour. People start running for cover. We find shelter under an old stone cupola that used to house poulty sellers in the olden days. It starts to hail.
We see a pub across the street and make a run for it.
It's a lovely, but small pub with crooked stairs and wooden beams and a fireplace.
We find a table in a small room upstairs and then notice a skeletal hand behind plexiglass in a hole in the wall behind us. The people at the next table explain that the hand was cut off during a card game (during the time that the pub was a brothel) and then displayed. however, that hand was stolen at some point and a replica hand was made. Somewhat disappointing, if you ask me.

Moving on to 3 pm: The Venue! ...