It was another hot and uncomfortable Canberra weekend for Tress, LBJ and I. The last time we were there was probably not more than 10 weeks ago. It was even hotter then. While driving on the interminable Hume Highway yesterday arvo, I said to Tress – again – that I’m tired. The very thought of making this drive again in about 4 weeks, was in itself, draining.

There’s a bright side to most things. It’s God’s small mercy to those who are weighted down with one form of weariness or another. I guess the bright side of this impending long drive – yet again – up and down the Hume, is that it would be the last of a series of involuntary act of this episode. I no longer have to do this, when that sojourn is complete. I may choose to do it voluntarily but I no longer have to do it.

This sense of compelled action is the wearying source I guess. I hope, in a couple of days, when the balm of familiar routine – one which ends with happy slumber in one’s own bed each night – applies to rejuvenate body and soul, the creeping bitterness will ebb to be replaced with joyful anticipation.

We went up principally to check out the venues involved and to do a recci of sorts. Tress wanted to check out the hotel our relos will be staying, and to gauge the distance to the NPG and the Canberra Baptist Church in Kingston. To complete the recci exercise and experience, Tress suggested we attend the Sunday service in that church. That service turned out to be more like an activists’ get together to rant, chest beat and plan. Like many Canberran inner city churches, the cries of the progressive bend far overrides any biblical exposition one finds in churches planted in other demography. When Tress suggested we leave as the offertory prayer was uttered, I couldn’t be happier.

In between checking out venues, we ate, Kiddo shopped, and we tried to talk about their plans. I don’t know when weddings began taking on the importance they do now – the myriads of plans, programs, schedulings, etc – they have long ceased to be a mere mark of two people deciding to start a family.

Strangely, few moan against the grotesque takeover of the commercialised arts scene so that couples spend an exhausting amount of time and money to plan a day which need only be a simple celebration of two becoming one. If it was completely up to me, 25 years ago I would have simply asked that my family and friends come to witness Tress and I exchange vows and rings in a church, followed by a simple dinner in a quiet restaurant nearby. Minus all the lights and sounds.

Alas, the tide of an ever growing bridal party, the conquest of the fashion designers and photographers, the rule of the caterer and the creeping reign of social expectations, have not ebbed one inch since Tress and I were subjected to their forces. They have grown their tentacles and their grip continue to suck the joy out of the occasion.

It was a sultry 18 deg at 5.30am this morning. Maybe that’s why I continue to feel tired.