This is the first post where I had no notes to go off (usually I jot down notes as I go) because I was having too much fun the entire time! So I wrote this at a café in Bruges (Belgium) one week after the wedding, and then edited it from a picnic bench at a campground in the Netherlands a week after that (my current location), already reminiscing…

Jack and I have been friends since 2012 when we were both at International House, a hall of residence at the University of Auckland. A big group of us engineers became friends, taking the same classes in first year and some of us flatting together later. When we scattered around the country and the world post-graduation, the “IH Crew” would meet up for holidays, visits to each other’s far-flung locations, and of course, weddings - Jack was Ferg’s best man.

To further describe our friend Jack, I will summarise an anecdote from Ferg’s groomsman speech:

Jack was a vigorous young man. And though it was age appropriate of Jack as a man who was young and vigorous, as his friend, sometimes I could only remember so many names.

And so it was, when one day I found myself in the back seat of a car in Golden Bay, Jack driving, Holly riding shotgun, and me in the back. We were making small-talk, me getting to know this new lady, when I referred to Holly by a name that was not “Holly”.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad to live in a mostly civilised society where I do not usually fear for my personal safety. But on that day, when Jack lined me up in the cross-hairs of his gaze in his rear-view mirror, I felt that fear. And from that moment, I knew that Holly was very special.

Basically, Jack is one of the most enthusiastic, lively, industrious people I know, and he had met his match in Holly; blazing like suns with their (I have no other word for it) vigour, constantly tinkering on projects and trying new things.

Another tidbit that might illustrate Jack & Holly’s vibe is that this wedding was a >100 person wedding, with half the guests coming from overseas, on a family friend’s farm, which was an empty paddock with no water or anything. One example to illustrate the effort involved: Jack had purchased a UV water filter in New Zealand and had flown it over with him to install, to ensure the water that he was pumping in was safe to drink. As another example, when I messaged him a week out asking about some logistics, he had been in the middle of digging some literal trenches in which to lay some piping. They were organising on-site accommodation for the guests, including tents, blow-up mattresses and beddings, portaloos and showers, plus all the plumbing. When I (with my Party-Pooper-Project-Manager hat on) asked why, it was because they wanted everyone to be able to dance the night away with no restrictions.

On the Tuesday evening, Fergus bussed in from Dublin, I arrived with Jack’s auntie and uncle on our bikes, and Jack and the other groomsmen arrived from the stag do in Budapest (narrowly escaping mass heatstroke despite plentiful vasodilation during a heatwave). I was initially worried about the scale of this event (Jack seemed quite stressed), but once we had congregated at the village inn, I was just excited to be there and to roll up our sleeves and get stuck in.

Wednesday to Friday: Wedding setup

On Wednesday morning we drove up from the wedding party’s AirBnB cottage to the farm. A huge white marquee was already set up at the top of a hill overlooking a vista of green rolling hills, sheep, and the sea in the distance. It looked so much like New Zealand. Down the hill about 200 m away was a cluster of lotus bell tents, where out of town guests would be sleeping.

While the groomsmen went up ladders, hung up lanterns, drove in stakes, mowed the lawns, and carried chairs, I sat for two days and painted signs.

Another job was to feed the troops. On the first day it was a curated platter of cucumber sticks, cherry tomatoes, breads, hummuses, and cheeses courtesy of Jack’s mum Shelley, Jack’s sister Rita, and yours truly. The second day, a request came in for Centra chicken wraps and some Lucozade (Centra is a large-ish convenience store chain), basically a McChicken and Powerade. Fair enough. I had to admit the Centra wraps were like crack for the tastebuds and I ended up eating a lot of these that week.

On the last day before the wedding, about four of us were kneeling by the catering tent’s kitchen sink, trying to figure out how to get the wastewater pump working again. In the end, it involved one aluminium drink can, one empty Lucozade bottle, and lots of tape.

In the evenings, the groomsmen worked on their speeches. Initially there had been some apprehension about the format and time limit. But eventually, the four of them seemed to come up with a cohesive idea, which they practiced and iterated on earnestly each night.

Friday night: Festivities begin

The evening before the wedding, the local pub was booked out for arriving guests. There were Holly’s friends, Jack’s ski club friends, and friends who had been at IH with me (or since incorporated): Helen and her newlywed husband Ryan (recently moved from Vancouver to London), Dillan (Berlin; Donna would arrive a little later), and Eliza (Melbourne; but who had arrived from the Budapest stag after taking a longer route here involving an overnight train with George who was still gallavanting around the Irish countryside). We drank Guinness and caught up since the last time we’d seen each other, which had been at Helen & Ryan’s wedding in Auckland a few months prior where Dillan had been the celebrant.

After the pub on my short sunset walk back to the cottage, I passed the barber (very small village) and saw the groomsmen milling outside, beer bottles in hand and big grins on their faces. They were in various states of shearing, getting their haircuts and beard trims/shaves. The boys had somehow convinced Fergus to reignite his mullet, severe fade included (not that he needed much convincing). What the groom wants, the groom gets. Fergus later told me that this time at the barber shop felt really special, hanging out together, getting both excited and relaxed before the big day.

Saturday: Wedding day

The morning involved a very brief trip up to the site for last minute jobs, then a relaxed getting ready process back at the cottage which I vacated so the groomsmen could do their thing. Soon we were at the old, beautiful Nun’s Cross church. We watched Holly walk down the aisle, radiant and joyous in her fairytale dress. The ceremony included some readings and a sermon by the pastor, plus some banger hymns and musical performances by friends. One was a cover of Big Jet Plane by Angus & Julia Stone by their friend Nick with a guitar and loop pedal, and another was a reading from The Prophet by Kahlil Gilbran by Jack’s mum Shelley.

At the reception in the big marquee on the farm, the weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Despite heatwaves on the continent, Wicklow was in the low-20s with not a hint of rain or wind despite worrying forecasts. Food, drink, and lawn games were abundant and delightful. Our table experimented with how many things would go well with the butter sauce, including drinking it straight.

Speeches are my second favourite part of weddings, and they were immaculate. Everyone spoke (four parents, four bridesmaids, four groomsmen, Holly & Jack), and yet each were distinct and brought a fresh perspective. Holly’s mum gave an intimate performance of Summertime by Ella Fitzgerald, a song she used to sing her as a lullaby, her back to the audience, only looking at Holly. Jack’s mum gave a heartfelt speech about Jack growing up and Jack today, ending with a soft singalong of “Te Aroha” (that song always chokes me up a bit). The groomsmen, after all their practice, knocked it out of the park with their zingy repertoire. The four of them passed the baton smoothly between each other after each eliciting belly laughs and aww’s from the audience. They were like a well-rehearsed barbershop quartet in their suspenders and bowties.

Dancefloor nirvana

My first favourite part of weddings kicked off with a first dance by Holly and Jack. Despite Holly’s huge train, they spun and lifted and dipped to cheers from a spirited audience. A 7-piece live band took us through to 11pm-ish with classics, including some that must have been well-known songs in Ireland that I didn’t recognise but others certainly did.

The dance floor was heaving. It was probably partly this particular crowd, and partly excellent synergy between Irish and New Zealand wedding cultures. People (who, me?) were dancing with wild abandon, jumping and stamping and screaming to the music. The DJ took over from the live band until 2:30 am with 2000s classics (e.g. teenage dirtbag) and recent pop hits (e.g. pink pony club), then tilted over into EDM classics (e.g. sandstorm by darude and tarantula by pendulum).

One dancefloor highlight was dancing to the song “C’est La Vie” by Irish girl group B*Witched, with Jack’s kiwi friend Emma and her French partner Mathieu. We had met them earlier that evening sitting on the grass. Mathieu, possibly the only person there who knew how to wear boat shoes well, was looking generally a little dazed. “You look like you’re experiencing culture-shock,” I shouted over the music. He was just replying that weddings in France tend to be a bit more formal when Bart, one of Holly’s besties and therefore a bridesmaid, pranced over. He was wearing his rust orange kilt (looked great, and matched the other bridesmaids’ dresses). He tossed his kilt over Greg’s head, mussed his hair, gave Greg’s forehead a smooch, then pranced off again. Mathieu’s shell-shocked expression stayed on for the rest of the night. Was he was wondering if his future kiwi-french wedding would also need to involve as much flailing of arms, passionate lip-syncing, and casual bromance? When “C’est la vie” came on, Mathieu’s partner Emma, George (who also speaks French), and I were beside ourselves with excitement. The whole circle would rev our jazz hands and ta-da! at Mathieu every time the song’s title was uttered: “Say you will, say you won’t, say you’ll do what I don’t, say it’s true, say to me… C’EST LA VIE!!!”

In the last half hour, shirts came off, the heavy EDM came on. Helen’s husband Ryan was in his element, knowing every word and beat drop. George would dance straight through the suspenseful breaks before the drops. Fergus initiated a can-can involving very high kicks. I danced as strenuously as possible, thinking it very unlikely that I’d be on a dance floor like this, with all these old friends, with all these old songs, with both these young knees, ever again.

Finally, the DJ went home and I made use of the porta-showers which were still thankfully serving hot water after a day and night of heavy use (yay #engineering!). I was ready to collapse into our tent, but Greg, taking his groomsmen duties seriously, declared that he will go to bed only when Jack goes to bed. Fergus uncharacteristically agreed, so we sat outside chit-chatting with the final dozen-ish revellers, Jack and Holly still in enthusiastic conversations. However, when it became clear that Jack and Holly might outlast us all, we started subtly hinting that they should call it a night by chanting “CON-SUM-MATE. CON-SUM-ATE.”

This was the most high-effort high-reward wedding I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing, and Jack and Holly pulled it off! It felt so entirely them to be celebrating their love on this beautiful Irish hilltop with people that they have brought together from all around the world. As one of the groomsmen Jason said in his speech, sometimes it’s worth trusting Jack on his crazy ideas, because they can turn into nights like these.

Edit from way later: Some more sneak peek professional photos!!!