Okay, so I didn’t know what the whole gypsy weeding craze was until a couple of days ago; when my head was ripped, hideously and horrifically, out of the sand and bombarded with lights, lumo and lace (not to mention bright orange self-tan) at a friend’s 30th birthday, which was a gypsy wedding dress-up. Great theme albeit a total eye-ache.
Here’s what I learnt; Channel 4 plays host to a feature series entitled My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding (there have been three series thus far) that profiles select traveller weddings. Apparently I am the only one in the world who has not seen the show. But not any longer. I have since acquainted myself with ‘the gypsy wedding,’ much to the disappointment a pair of severely disgruntled retinas.
Traveller weddings are… extravagant… in an I-live-in-a-caravan-and-like-to-adorn-myself-with-Christmas-lights-and-copious-amounts-of-hairspray kind of way. The whole affair is grossly grotesque, distastefully dire, perfectly putrid (I could bombard you with masses of annoying, but apt, alliteration)… and yet, much to my greatest mortification, the weddings are magnificently mesmerising as well. The couple of episodes I watched, I spent most of the time cringing and covering one eye (just one) with my hand… but I couldn’t look away. I just couldn’t. Here’s why:
It’s not over! Look at this bit of pop-culture awesomeness: