The wedding

I attended my mate's wedding on Saturday.

I haven't been to a wedding in roughly 20 years but it would seem that I've now reached the age where it's starting to happen that friends and relatives of a similar age to me are expressing their desire to "love and be loved until they die".
Seeing as I haven't been to a wedding in a while, I'd forgotten how tough they can be.
Finnish weddings with an open bar are in particular physically very demanding. It's been like 72 hours and I'm finally starting to show signs of life again.

I haven't seen the film 4 weddings and a funeral, but I'm pretty sure it's just about this one guy going to 4 weddings in a row, getting shitfaced at every one of them and then just simply dying. His death is a horrible, painful one. Serves you right Hugh Grant you smug bastard.
I felt pretty damn close to this on Sunday.

Anyway, the ceremony was lovely. Everyone looked super pretty and looked to have enjoyed themselves rather nicely... At some point as the night progressed, the newly-weds had enough and fucked off to a different country, but I'll be damned if this was going to stop me having a good time.
As the night neared its end and I was ordered to stop tearing up the dancefloor, I gathered up a troupe of merry (ie. absolutely hammered) wedding guests and some extras (the bar staff) and we headed on a vodka-fuelled quest towards the local beach. We were like a shit Lord of the Rings and some members of our group even had the demeanor of orcs.
I was, of course, Aragorn son of my mum, King of awesomeness.
Our quest? A little late-night swimming, which btw. is exactly the kind of thing you're always warned not to do, and a lot more late-night drinking.
We only stopped to pick up (steal) my little sister's giant inflatable crocodile, which I then named Steve Irwin.
Steve quickly lived/died up to his name as he suffered a fatal puncture which instead of a pissed-off stingray was caused by a pissed-up group of young adults. So without the aid of inflatable toys we were forced to entertain ourselves.

Three things I noticed:

1) Trying to pull running backflips into the water just isn't going to happen at 5 in the morning while you're holding a bottle of Jaloviina.

2) Forcefully trying to remove the clothes of your female companions because "swimming's totally awesome and they should deffo swim with the guys" just makes you (look like) a desperate pervert.

3) The water was actually quite cold and I most probably screamed "like a bitch"

And it was that entertainment which ultimately tired our posse, as they all in turn managed to crawl back to our place and pass out, for some reason, each on a different step of our staircase.

Phew.

Two more weddings this year.