Novacastrian Nuptials – That Whole Shower Unpleasantness
This episode took place a few years ago now, but I’ll do my best to recall things as I saw them at the time….(and add some photos a little later).
My mate Mark – who attended Busby High with my sister Kerrie many moons ago, and who was at the time a cop, sent me a drunken SMS one night.
He’d been out to Parkes to visit his Police Academy mate Scotty – and as such gatherings go, they’d gone to the local pub for a relaxing beverage or two.
Mark as it turned out found himself quite smitten with one of Scotty’s colleagues – a sweet young constable by the name of Kate.
Mark couldn’t believe a honey such as this would find him attractive – to this day, the boys and I concur.
So sometime later, Mark and Kate are getting married – and it is with great personal honour that I fly down from Qld to fulfil my honour as a groomsman.
I hired a car – turned out to be a brand-spanking new black Ford XR6. I intended to stay at Patonga for the first night (apparently they have a new hotel there!). Upon questioning as to the nightly fee, I was advised it was $340 or some such outrageous tally!
I acknowledged their offer with grace (after physically recoiling in horror at their exorbitant rates!)
So I decided I might as well head straight to Mark’s for the night (I was actually hoping for some decent sleep before the wedding proper, but shit happens, eh?).
I think I was there for about ten seconds before I was down on all fours, playing Hungry, Hungry Hippo with Mark’s two young fellas. Don’t be misled – this is an extremely violent game – and please don’t ever get yourself in a winning position with two animated young fellas, hell bent on kicking your arse!
My next recollection is from the following day, when the rest of the boys arrived for pre-wedding rehearsals.
It was stipulated that part of the wedding party requirements was to perform a specific dance upon entry to the reception. We were all allocated an individual style – mine happened to be Gangnam Style!
I am at heart a cynical bastard and subsequently questioned this specification at length!
I was assured that all was kosher (though I retained my suspicions).
Despite my reservations re the dancing requirement, I decided that if you’re gonna do it at all, you may as well throw everything into it! So that was my plan.
So for the pre-wedding night, we drank beer, played darts, watched footy and pretty much behaved ourselves.
I was however most impressed with Scotty’s catering performance. He baked a couple of chickens and a hunk of pork – which he pulled all apart, mixed up with some gravy and dished out on fresh bread rolls. It was superb!
So in the end, if I recall correctly (given it was two years ago), there was myself, Mark’s most beautiful daughter Ebony, Mark, Scott, Dean (Mark’s best mate), Craig (Mark’s brother), Dave (Kate’s brother – who reminded me very much of the bearded Hangover dude – and a top bloke to boot), and David De Vries.
What with one thing or another, we all kind of slept at Mark & Kate’s Cessnock pad that night.
Dave DV is another old Busby High dude. We’ve been mates for 30 years.
Dave is probably the most well read man I have ever met. He can give you the history behind Rhodesia becoming Zimbabwe, Hitler coming to power, Dutch soccer stars, Ned Kelly’s politics, Eastern Suburbs premierships, Pink’s preferred lingerie, Indian Swami magic or how best to steam asparagus!
He is also a very witty bastard, keen on amusing repartee.
Everyone loves The Dave.
Sometimes though, Dave doesn’t plan things out as thoroughly as he probably should.
The official wedding ceremony was to be on the headland at Newcastle – only a few hundred metres from the resort we were all staying at, where the reception was to be celebrated shortly thereafter.
Before we left Mark’s place – for the serious side of the wedding preparations, when we were all more or less hungover and confused, Dave enquires of me, in a deceptively harmless manner:
‘Did you book a good room at the resort Stegga?’
I replied in good faith, “Dunno mate. I just booked a room”
You see – I’ve been here before – so I booked ahead!
I booked two nights at the resort – based upon the expectation that I’d be fairly incapacitated by hangover the day after the wedding. So I’d put out the ‘Do not Disturb’ sign, so I could sleep the pain away for at least another day. (I’m no Dummy!).
So Dave says – “That’s good mate. You mind if I stay with ya?”
“What!? Didn’t you book a room?!”
‘Well, by the time I got around to it, there was only the penthouse available and it was like, three hundred bucks a night!’
Knowing Dave’s extenuating circumstances in this case, I conceded – no worries mate.
‘I can’t guarantee a bed or pillows or blankets and stuff mate – but you’re certainly welcome to stay in my room’
So we head off from Mark’s Cessnock residence, to Noah’s on the Beach Resort in Newcastle.
Dave was not part of the wedding party on this occasion, so I lost track of him – I booked into my own room – and a fine room it was too! A beautiful sweeping view of Newcastle beach, via floor to ceiling sliding glass doors, a nice TV, luxurious queen bed, a frigid air-conditioner and a fancy-dan bathroom and shower suite.
The wedding party lads then headed to a nearby pub where they brew their own beer and provide decent meals (the pub – not the wedding party). We ate something and had a few drinks and some laughs.
As a group, we were an eclectic conglomeration of body-types and personalities – we had the Lanky six-foot-five leviathan from Inverell, the clean-shaven, bull-necked portly guy, the rather girthy, greying groom, the groom’s older brother – who appears to be getting younger each year, the stocky, bristle bearded brother-in-law and the pencil-necked, gel-haired best man.
We were also joined by Mark’s young fellas, Patrick and Nash, looking mighty dapper in matching suits.
The ceremony on the hill was faultless – a magical view with a kind, cooling sea breeze maintaining everyone’s comfort. I had never seen the bride looking more beautiful, and her supporting party followed suit – sparkling in elegant, off-the-shoulder cobalt blue dresses. (I know this because I once had a blue shirt, whose tag declared it “Cobalt” – and it was almost the same colour as these dresses!).
I think the bride’s dress was white.
We took a host of photos around the general area and then jumped into an old reconditioned Kombi and headed to a magnificent old stone church, where we took a few more photos (and an esky full of beer).
When we once again arrived back at the Hotel, it was time for the reception – everyone else was already seated and well cheery by this stage. I guess few had retired to their rooms after the ceremony, preferring to mingle at one of the bars instead.
So it’s time to enter, upon the formal announcement of our presence – and of course to perform our individually allocated dance routines. As I said – with things such as this, it’s in for a penny, in for a pound!
We knew everyone would laugh – so you just rip in with great gusto. I was pretty much firing on all cylinders by this stage anyway – so, with my gorgeous partner Bridget in tow, I burst through the doors doing my best to emulate that chubby little Korean we’ve all grown to love – Psy!
Everyone laughed at my dodgy Gangnam Style antics, as I’d expected – but I will admit that I was pretty happy to be shown my seat and sit down! I can’t even remember what the other dicky dances were – though I think Dean may have been Too Sexy for his Shirt?
Anyway – the big joke came down to the fact that the bride and groom didn’t do a dance – they just entered in a respectable fashion and laughed at us for making fools of ourselves!
(Unfortunately I’ve done things in my life for which I am far more embarrassed than that little jig! But it was a good trick nonetheless).
The speeches were excellent – some bringing tears due to their heartfelt and honest nature.
A bunch of Kate’s family did the super-hero act and ripped open their shirts to display a Newcastle Knights footy jersey beneath – much to Mark’s disgust (being a fanatical to the point of lunacy, Rabbitohs supporter).
Some of the family took time out to catch the closing minutes of the Knights match on a small mobile TV. They seem obsessed with the Knights down that way for some reason – they’re almost as bad as Queenslanders!
I ran into several of Mark’s family who I’d met on previous occasions – but failed to recognize here, so out of context! Some I’d met camping out in the bush, some when they were merely kids and by now had grown into big men with wives and kids, and others I just hadn’t expected to see.
I’ve always had trouble placing people out of their natural habitat – and dressed formally (and behaving respectably).
Anyway, a great time was had by all.
There was a huge round table with many of my old mates sitting around – Including my brother Al and his wife Candy, Lloydy and his wife Nic, Dave (who confided he had high hopes for a beautiful lady he’d recently met in Adelaide), Derek and his missus Rochelle, Linda (Dean’s wife) and a couple of others.
By this hour, we were all mingling and dancing and such – incidentally, have you ever noticed that all girls throw their arms aloft when they dance, reaching for the sky, and most blokes just swing theirs low, as though they are nonchalantly jogging through a park?
It was getting late by then and Dave had not mentioned sharing the room since earlier that morning. I began to assume he’d sorted something with the Lloyd-Jones’ or Mitchell’s.
When wedding kick-out time approached, I was just about at the end of my tether – I’d had enough to drink and couldn’t wait to kick my boots off and lie down.
Al and Candy hadn’t seen Dave or Lloydy for several years and were all stepping high and in no mood to cease the partying just yet! So they decided to head out in search of a kick-on venue.
Lloydy first had to get his Visa stamped by the missus, validating his permission to be out on the town without her, and just before they left, Dave confirms his accommodation for the night.
I say ‘No worries mate – just call my mobile when you get back and I’ll let you in’
It must have been around two thirty, I’m not sure – but there was a thunderous pounding on my door and a repeated bellowing of my name!
I yelled out “Okay – I’m coming. Take it easy”
The pounding and bellowing continued till I made it to the door and opened it up to see my idiot, rollicking brother laughing uproariously, his wife close behind in a glassy-eyed giggle and Dave standing tall.
I just muttered something like ‘Fughhh……’, pushed the door open so Dave could enter, then turned around and headed for bed.
I pointed to the floor between the bed and the glass doors and said ‘There’s a couple of pillows there – there’s no mattress and I dunno about blankets’.
Dave thanked me very much and said how much he appreciated the offer and assured me he’d be fine now.
I passed out again….
I’m guessing it must have been about two hours later (based solely upon the minimum time required to cause that level of damage).
I felt my blankets being dragged off me – toward the window….
I look up startled – What the F…..
Dave has snuck in the other side of my bed and is covering himself with my blanky!
This is not really an issue – I’ve known him for years and I’m really confident that I’m not at all his type.
Not only that, he is of very slender build and takes up no room at all – I dare say, if it were long enough – Dave could sleep quite comfortable on an ironing board.
He does however, snore.
I’m told that I do too on occasion – but I remain unconvinced.
So after many celebratory drinks earlier and my new bed-mate snoring next to me, I thought I’d best take the opportunity for a comforting wizza. So up I hopped and off to the ensuite……
I took two steps and on about the third, I felt squelch, squelch, squelch…
WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED HERE!? I spluttered.
The carpet was all soaked for about two and a half metres outside of the bathroom!
I continued into the bathroom, with my hazy brain trying to make some kind of sense of the cold, wet carpet.
I stood there and noticed – drip, drip, drip – something raining down upon my head, from the blank ceiling no less!
I turned the light on and the entire room was dripping with water – some kind of condensation!!! EVERYWHERE – It looked like someone had lost control of a fire hose! There was water pissing down the walls, dribbling from the ceiling, down the mirror, basin and throne! All over the floor and about nine square metres of carpet wringing wet, squelching between my toes at each step.
I had a wiz and went back to bed – Dave stirred – so I enquired ‘What the fuck happened in there?!”
He said ‘I had a shower’, and went back to sleep.
Try as I may, I could barely get back to sleep – worrying about how the hell to explain (and pay for) this damage – in a room booked for one. Me!
As a group we’d booked breakfast – and had to get the early sitting due to the large number of us. It was something like thirty bucks a head – which is a lot more than I usually pay for breakfast!
In the cold darkness, with Dave snoring contentedly beside me, I tried to work out how this could have happened?!
Granted – the shower floor only had a one inch step between it and the bathroom floor and from there, it was a free-for-all out onto the carpet. But when I had a shower earlier – this was not an issue – the water all just ran straight down the drain.
The possible scenarios that I came up with were that firstly Dave got freezing cold – not having any blankets, with the aircon blasting polar air all round the room. So I’m not sure if he just had a shower to warm up and mistakenly stood on the drain hole – which you would surely notice before too long. Or he attempted to steam the whole room warm by letting the hot water run unchecked – this would explain all the condensation in the bathroom. Or perhaps he was having a nice hot shower and just slinked down to the floor and lie in the foetal position as the hot water rained down upon him?
I don’t suppose the ‘how’ really matters – it’s like a Scooby Doo ghost – there is probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, but in the end, the mystery merely adds to the tale.
When the sun finally came up and breakfast was calling, I got out of bed, wandered around to the big windows and whooshed the light-proof curtains across – the windows were all opaque – were all fogged up, from the floor to the ceiling!
Dave quips “She’s a regular pea-souper out there”.
Still largely unimpressed, I squelched my way across the room to check if the spillage had escaped our room.
I opened the door and noticed the wetness had made its way about four metres down the hallway, past the next guys entry door.
As a courtesy to guests, this fab hotel had supplied the daily newspaper – which they slip strategically under your door.
Mine was approximately an inch and a half thick – all swollen and waterlogged – (the paper that is) – perhaps Dave had been reading it in the shower? Who knows?
I showered and prepared for breakfast.
Dave asked how much he owed for staying in the room – I said ‘Nothing at all mate for staying here – but I dunno what the hell they’re gonna charge to clean up this mess – I’m not gonna pay for that’.
So I left the room and commenced squelching down the hallway toward the breakfast venue.
I fronted the reception desk on the way – looking mightily sheepish I imagine and I explained to the chickie:
“Good morning – how are you today?”
She said she was fine and asked how I was?
I said “Well I’m very well thank you – it was a lovely wedding last night! ……….Just on that – after the wedding was over, a mate asked if he could use my shower – which I said would be fine.
Now….there was a bit of an issue with the water from the shower spilling over onto the carpet a bit”
She said ‘Oh no. Is it bad?’
I said ‘Well it’s not good’
She said ‘Are you able to step over it for a while until it dries’
I said ‘Not really. I think you may need to get one of those wet & dry vacuum cleaner things up there’
She apologised and said ‘Yes – this has happened before’
I wasn’t so sure about that – she hadn’t seen the extent of the dampness and I’d kind of undersold the entire situation.
It was with great concern over what the ultimate charge may be, that I proceeded to breakfast.
I grabbed some tucker and joined the crowd – they said – ‘How was your night?’
I shook my head and said ‘You’ve got no friggen idea!’
Then it was – “Why, what happened?”
I started to explain and both Linda and Nichole were near wetting themselves with laughter! It was the first time I had actually seen the funny side at all.
Dave eventually turned up for the thirty buck brekky special – which he hadn’t ordered or paid for but enjoyed nonetheless.
With intent to avoid my room for some time, I walked down to the beach after brekky – I think initially with Linda and Dean?
After a while, my mobile rang and it was my brother Al. He’d seen me sitting on the beach via binoculars from his balcony. He says come up to our room for a chat – they had a late-exit deal and were flying back to the Goldy in the arvo.
Going back past the reception and the chickie calls me over and asks if it would be too inconvenient for me to take a new room for tonight – as they had a hot-air-carpet-blower in my room at the moment?
I said ‘Why certainly not’ and apologised again.
I got upstairs and there was a dude vacuuming the hallway and another bloke with a huge blower, working overtime inside my room.
I went up to Al’s room and asked how they slept. They said ‘Fine – except for some fucking idiot with a vacuum cleaner blasting past our door this morning!’
It was about here that I really started to see the funny side.
I said ‘Yeah – that was Dave’, and proceeded to tell them the story – and they nearly p1ssed themselves as well!
I think we all went for another walk along the beach before going back – I had volunteered to give them a lift to Newcastle airport in my hire car.
Pretty much everyone else had left by this stage, as they had to be out by ten am and many had to return to Sydney.
The bloke was still at it with the hot air blaster in my room, so I stepped elusively past him and his machine, grabbed my bag and headed to my new, dry room.
I dropped Al and Candy off at the airport and returned to my room.
Dave was most concerned and sent several messages enquiring as to the damage and cost. I was in no hurry to hound staff for the final cleanup figure.
After all my forward planning and best intentions for a sensible sleep and recovery session, I still found myself buggered early in the evening of the second day – so I bought a twenty-nine dollar room service chicken schnitty and crashed at about seven PM.
The next day, I headed for the lift with my bag in tow, it opened up and the same bloke was there with another hot air blower. I smiled and nodded and let him past before I went down to face the damage.
The reception chickie says “Thanks for the key Steve – hope you enjoyed your stay. Sorry again for that mess with the shower. Please come back and stay again sometime’
I smiled and said ‘Thank you very much Christine – it’s been a pleasure!’
I threw my bag in the boot of the XR6 and texted Dave – ‘It’s all cool Brother – no charge!’
……..Dave later posts on Facebook from Adelaide, something like – ‘Had a fantastic time at the wedding in Newcastle – except for that whole shower unpleasantness’