7. The O'Brien Identity

11 Days to go and counting and Munster have struck gold in the battle of the red waistcoat. For those of you that don't know; the only requirement I had for the wedding (aside from Caroline turning up) was that I got to wear a red waistcoat as part of my suit. Every facet of this day has been meticulously planned out and executed by the Leinster brigade. I needed to bring a little bit of country to this rock and roll day.

I successfully managed to veto the blue and yellow bridesmaids dresses. I feel however this was a diversionary tactic to call my bluff and keep me off guard. Up to this I had suffered complete failure in my attempts to have a Thomand Park wedding. I was vetoed in my attempts to have the Heineken cup used as the something borrowed (seen as its only on a 12month loan in Donnybrook). I suggested piebald ponies and my uncles kart as the wedding car (I can't repeat the response to that because of the watershed).

So there I was, only days left to go and only for my name on the invite and the wedding booklet there was no O'Brien identity on the wedding day. That was the case anyway, until last week.

I was thwarted in my original attempts at getting a red waistcoat. We arrived down to Limerick to try on the suits. I asked my aunt if they had any red waistcoats. She looked at my mother and said, we do but they are being used at the moment at a wedding in Rathkeele. The look on my mother's face should have told Caroline exactly what that meant. Caroline however was oblivious to my delight, might get away with this yet. Not with my luck I didn't. Now for all the none Limerick people reading this; Caroline proceeded to ask "What is wrong with that?"

Before my aunt even responded my heart sank. My red waistcoat chances were disappearing before my eyes. "Well; There is nothing wrong per say with the waistcoats. The gentleman who ordered them was here for his son's wedding. He arrived in wearing a vest, shorts and a pair of sandals with socks on (note the emphasis here it is not a typo)".

"Nothing wrong with that" I said. "I spent many a summer at home in a vest and shorts. Maybe he had just had surgery for his bunions and couldn't expose his feet to the air."

"Possibly" said my aunt. Then came the killer blow; my aunt proceeded that when she asked him how many waistcoats and what sizes he needed he responded "Well Boss, we nee abou turteen of um. tree dis syze, sex dis size an fore of da begist syze ya ave in the shop". All this with his hands outstretched like a man showing his mates in the pub the size of the fish he caught that morning.

I didn't even wait for Caroline to respond to this. I just jumped in and said "sure we can take a look at what you have in stock" and I ran upstairs to the fitting area. We didn't speak of it again; until last week.

So there I was sitting in my room studying, pining over what could have been. Planning for a day where I will have a waistcoat to match the bride and my groomsmen matching the bridesmaids. A package was delivered to the house with the little bride and groom for the top of the wedding cake. Caroline yelled up to me to come down and see it. Belligerently I yelled down to her "Unless he is wearing a Munster Jersey I don't care what it looks like". Caroline didn't respond, she walked up stairs and put the cake topper on my desk.



The O'Brien Identity has been successful, I got my red waistcoat, well sorta anyway. Up next comes the O'Brien Marriage Supremacy.....

6. The curious incident of the Dog and the Suit Trousers….

4 Weeks 3 Days and counting to D-Day. I was starting to get nervous, but not in the way you would think. I was told that to describe the 6 weeks leading up to the wedding as hectic is like describing white water rafting as boating.

I’m on a white water raft ride of my own at the moment. The only difference to this and normal white water rafting is that Caroline, her Mum and bridesmaids are in the boat, Caroline is “driving” and directing where we are going. I am in a rubber ring in the water behind them, tied to the boat and doing my best impression of the relaxed man in those hamlet cigars adds on TV. The girls are very confident they know what they are doing, where they are going and how to get there. Only thing is that I know none of them have ever been white water rafting before. Not in Caroline’s boat anyway.

Now anyone who has had the pleasure of being in a Car with Caroline or watched her play Super Mario Brothers on the DS is aware of the “very mild” bouts of road rage that she suffers from. Now, I’m not talking about the type of rage that ensues when you come off the M7 motorway after Portlaois. 120KPH from Dublin all the way down and you come to a shuddering halt when you meet the Mountrath welcoming committee. A convoy of Horseboxes and tractors await you that, (in my humble opinion) simply circle this little village at 30KPH on an hourly basis. They do this just to annoy everyone doing their best to get through Laois as quickly as possible.

No, I’m talking Taxi cutting you off on Dame Street, red faced, steam escaping from ears, window down shouting, phone the taxi regulator to complain road rage. Now to her eternal credit Caroline has not had any bouts of wedding road rage to date. I feared however that with choppy waters approaching this may change.

So there I was on Saturday in the kitchen chatting to the 3 ladies in question. Caroline is about to head out the door to drop off some suits to the dry cleaners. Ruby, Caroline’s black Labrador was sitting on her bed by the radiator listening surprisingly quietly to the on-going wedding conversations. That my friends is when I had, what can only be described as a moment where time stood still. Somehow Caroline’s suit trousers (which were lying over the back of the chair) caught my eye. Something didn’t seem quiet right about them……….it wasn’t. Just like you would see in one of those cheesy 80's TV shows, slow motion followed where my gaze turned to Ruby who, at that exact moment turned to look at me. Man and Man’s best friend shared a moment of terror. We both thought the same thing. Exit Stage Left. I opened the kitchen door and Ruby stood up preparing to move. Then it all went wrong. “RUBY……..WHAT HAVE YOU DONE.”

The entire backside area of Caroline’s Suit trousers were “missing”, eaten to be more precise. I’m not entirely sure how Caroline didn’t spot this earlier. In fact I’m still not entirely sure how Ruby managed to eat it in the first place, as the trousers were still on the line when Caroline picked them up. But needless to say the poor Dog knew she had done wrong. She lay down flat; tail stopped moving, ears dropped, puppy eyes looking up at Caroline, then at me. The water was getting rough, a wave had hit the rubber ring and my Hamlet Cigar had fallen into the water. A waterfall was quickly approaching.

I’m not sure if Ruby understands the word “RUN” but I have never seen her move that fast to get out of the house before. Straight outside, into her dog house and didn’t even look back. I went back inside to survey the damage. You can only imagine my surprise to find the ladies laughing about the whole incident. Mad at the dog granted, but no steaming ears, shouting or ranting to be seen. No bride-zilla’s, mother in law-zilla’s, bridesmaid-zilla's, no zilla’s of any kind anywhere in the vicinity.

So ladies and gentlemen; crisis averted, Ruby still lives, oblivious to how close she came to disaster and Caroline has an excuse to shop for a new suit. All those people who said weddings are stressful occasions were pulling my leg. The next 4 weeks and 3 days are going to be a breeze. Back to my rubber ring, calm waters, cigar in hand, cue Hamlet music………….

5. Don't Forget the Wife.....

It has been a while now since my last blog entry. In truth it’s been quiet over the last few months. With time starting to run out everything has starting to get busy again in the lead up to the wedding.

Learned a lot of lessons over the last few weeks but none more so than what I'm about to tell you. You must never EVER under any circumstances forget the wife.

Bit of background for you. When Caroline and I started going out we had arranged to meet friends of ours in Leixlip Co. Kildare. I was living in Sandyford (South Dublin) and Caroline was at home in Lucan. I headed off on my merry way to meet everyone in Leixlip. Once I arrived I got in the door to be greeted by our friends. The usual banter ensured until someone said to me "Where is Caroline?". I responded "Be right back." Indeed I was right back, 20mins later, with Caroline in tow. Not a good start to our relationship you might think. It gets worse.

12 Months later we were both attending the wedding of 2 college friends of mine, Maurice and Gillian. After the ceremony, when you were walking out of the church greeting the happy couple, I greeted Bride and Groom, wished them well and walked on forgetting to introduce my darling girlfriend. Caroline introduced herself, wished them well and reminded me afterwards not to forget to introduce her at the next wedding. Unforgivable? Probably not, but certainly a yellow card offence. Unfortunately it got worse..

12 Months later at another college wedding (Brendan and Siobhan), we laughed beforehand with some friends about how I had forgotten to introduce Caroline at the previous wedding. Yes you guessed it. Out the front door, wished everyone well and went on my merry way forgetting Caroline. I'm telling you this woman has the patience of a saint. But guess what? It gets worse still...

Yesterday I was booking the accommodation for our honeymoon in Hawaii. Sorted out the room, rates, view etc etc. I confirmed and paid for the room. I was then showing Caroline the booking. "It looks beautiful there". She said. "It really is a lovely hotel, you are really going to enjoy it on your own...". I couldn't believe it. Honeymoon suite in a hotel in Hawaii, booked for 1.

2 minutes later I'm on hold to the hotel reception. "Yes Mr O'Brien, we have your booking confirmation for the honeymoon suite here in front of me". So there I was, fiancé beside me when I replied " Small problem with the booking, can you make that booking for 2, I forgot to add the wife." I have to admit I never heard synchronised laughter before across such a large distance; but Caroline and the receptionist shared a good old laugh at my expense.

Moral of the story gentlemen! No matter where you are. No matter what you’re doing. No matter what you are booking. Don't forget the wife....

4. The Barrington’s Peer incident.

It’s been a while since I put an update on this site about the ongoing war at home. There have been some ferocious battles since my last blog. While Caroline has won all of the important battles to date, there is a glimmering light of hope. My stunning upset victory at the battle of honeymoon was surprising and unexpected. It reignited the inner fires that burn.

It is a story of intrigue, espionage, behind enemy lines infiltration and propaganda. Operation Codenamed "Karina H" is a story for another day. Today I have more pressing issues to deal with.

I HAVE BEEN BETRAYED.

Yes it is true, a member of the rebellion has turned their back on me. We had a traitor in our ranks that has shown their true colors and defected to the enemy. To make this betrayal all the more staggering, the traitor was my own flesh and blood, my beloved sister Emma.

To give you some background on this tale of woe you need to understand our relationship. What started out innocently when I pushed the then 18 month old Emma into the swimming pool in Majorca (nearly drowning her), escalated to Emma dropping a toy cash register on my head giving me a black eye. Sometime after this I accidentally kicked her in the head with a roller-skate while falling off my bike. (This was the moment I believe that the psychological war started.)
When I was 12 years old I confided in her that Barry Hartnett (my cousin) and I were going to cycle down to Barrington’s peer to play near the river. This is important as Mum had specifically told me I was not allowed to go there. I returned home that evening to my dearest mother waiting for me at the front door asking where I had been? This I learned in later life is a question similar to the following:

• Does my bum look big in this?
• Is that girl prettier than me?
• You don’t mind if my Mother comes to dinner?

It is a question that women ask even though they already know the answer. They ask as they know that most men (if they have any sense) will lie. In short I had been turned in. I was grounded and the power cable for the Super Nintendo taken away for a week. As we got older this rivalry disappeared and I forgot about the Barrington's Peer incident. Recent events however brought this incident back into light.

As some of you may know I have only one request for my wedding. I want to wear a red waist coat on the day. I understand that the bridesmaid’s dresses have an important part to play in this decision as my waist coat can’t clash with the bridesmaids etc etc. So this is not an easy decision to win.

That said however, when I was told my beloved sister was to be Caroline’s bridesmaid I was delighted. I finally had a “man on the inside”. This was a battle I couldn’t lose. Emma will sort out the dress color and soften the idea of red waist coats from behind enemy lines. I on the other hand would execute operation “Distract and Confuse”. The plan was to blind the enemy with extraordinary wedding requests. Doves being released when the priest says "man and wife" or J&C ice sculptures for the reception. These were to distract Caroline from the ultimate goal. She would reject all requests and concede to the red waist coat thinking “I have to let him have something”.

Needless to say you can imagine my surprise the day I discovered the deception. On the mention of my waist coat I was met with the staggering statement “Not a hope are you wearing a red waist coat. Emma told me all about it. Red won’t go with the bridesmaid’s dresses so I’m calling a VETO”.

I had been betrayed, by my own flesh and blood no less; just like the Barrington’s Peer incident. As if this wasn’t bad enough I was then sent on the pictures of the bridesmaid dress Emma had picked out for my wedding.



Emma if you are reading this you had better stay well clear of the swimming pool in the hotel. We don’t want any more "accidents"........:)

P.S. Caroline.....these are VETO'd

3. Location Location Location

3 months in, 9 to go and I’m getting worried. We have just passed the 20minute mark of the game and the opposition has been camped in my 22 since March. My scrum has collapsed, my scrumhalf is erratic and my out-halves defensive kicks to touch have repeatedly been blocked down. I seem to be suffering from Eddie O’Sullivan syndrome as my tactics and plans have blown up in my face. What’s gone wrong I hear you ask? Let me explain....

Up until very recently my understanding was that "compromise" was something that happened between two parties to resolve an impasse of some description. Person A wants to wear a black suit, person B wants to wear a white suit. This usually results in what is referred to as the "Grey Area" suit, also known as compromise. To women however compromise seems to mean something else entirely.

It all started innocently enough with a proposal being brought forward to the wedding “Comitéa”. Said proposal was for the wedding ceremony and reception to take place in the most popular, glamorous, spiritual and holiest of cathedrals in Limerick. Yes I am indeed speaking about Thomand Park. Think of this like attempting a drop goal from your own 10m line while the ref is playing advantage. Nothing to lose, slim chance or scoring, but on a windy day you’d never know.

Now I am in no way naive enough to believe that I was going to win that battle, but I figured aim high and you might get your compromise of somewhere half way. With Limerick vetoed the foot came down at the halfway point, my father’s home town of Birr Co. Offaly. My foot was also seen in many different locations along the N7 from Tipp to Kildare until it finally ended up about 15mins from Lucan in the Castleknock Hotel in County Dublin. PENALTY TRY under the posts to the bride.

This is not looking good. I need a Declan Kidney type resurrection to pull this one out of the fire. But I fear further “compromise” may be the order of the day :).

2. Seriously....

The people at the Oxford English Dictionary define a Perfect Engagement as follows:

Engagement: betrothal.
Perfect: entirely without any flaws, defects, or shortcomings.

So a perfect engagement is a betrothal that is entirely without flaws, defects or shortcomings. In other words for all us mortal men in the world it doesn’t exist. Or does it?

Is it fair to say that no matter how much planning, organising, investment, preparation, practice (for some people) you can put into the perfect moment, you are guaranteed that something will go wrong? Or is it actually possible to have that one perfect moment in time when everything falls into place. I have recently discovered from experience the answer to this question is a resounding yes.

I know what you are thinking, “do I really have to read the big soppy description of John and Caroline’s engagement and how perfect it was”. Let me assure you now that this is a cold hard factual examination of the engagement process with pros, cons, pitfalls and highlights. The advice contained below is something that I wish I had known beforehand. I now pass it on to those who may benefit from my experience.

We’ve all heard the horror stories of engagements that have gone horribly wrong. My personal favourite is the urban legend of the guy going through airport security with his girlfriend on the way to a romantic getaway. There he was waiting for his bag when a big security guard comes up to him and says “Sir is this your bag”. Upon opening his bag the security guard points to a box rolled up in a sock at the bottom of the bag. “Sir can you please open this”. To which the now panicking boyfriend replies “I’d rather not”. WRONG ANSWER bud. While the security guard is calling for backup while putting on a rubber glove, the girlfriend turns and says “What are you doing, open it up or we’ll miss the flight”. What could the poor guy do except get down on one knee, take the box out of the sock, open it and propose there and then at the airport security desk. How can this be a perfect moment I hear you ask. Well what you and I don’t know is the version of this story that was told by the now ecstatic fiance to all her family and friends on her return home.

Let me give you a more detailed example. My perfect engagement was on top of the hill at Sacre-Coeur Church, overlooking Paris at night time. You can see why from the picture below.

Some of the minor details:
• It was our 3 year anniversary
• The same weekend of Ireland vs Scotland in the 6 nations which was our first date
• Flights and accommodation was booked and paid for.
• Caroline had no idea where we were going and with a little help from my friends we had her convinced we were going to Cork (worst case) or Edinburgh for the rugby (best case).

The "plan" was to go to Sacre-Coeur as soon as we arrived on the Friday night. The reasons for this was that on Saturday we were to go and meet friends in the morning and watch the rugby during the day. When the day itself arrived (Friday 13th by the way) we arrived at the airport to find that my paper ticket had to be scanned 5 times as for some reason it wouldn’t read properly. Our flight got delayed over 2 hours which meant that by the time we landed it was too late to go anywhere. Bearing in mind that I was already a bag of nerves before we left Ireland; I was now faced with the horrifying prospect of having to watch Ireland vs Scotland with my usual 6 Nations nervous disposition as well as the engagement jitters. Which would be followed by a proposal only God knows where, which would be performed while well oiled from the alcohol consumed to cover up the previously mentioned nervousness. Friday 13th was living up to its name.

We arrived into the hotel a little after 23:30 to find that we had been upgraded to a “room with a view” and what a view it was. Overlooking the Tuileries gardens with the Louvre to the left and the Eiffel Tower to the right. I was like a drunken fool on the way home on a Saturday night. I had stumbled and fallen flat on the ground, but somehow managed not to drop my garlic chips and cheese. I had my Sacre-Coeur back.

We went for a walk around the corner to find the Irish bar for the game the next day. After a pint of Dutch courage we went back to the hotel where I went out on the balcony and sat down. I called Caroline out to look at the view. She arrived out, tooth brush in hand and sat on my lap. There on the balcony overlooking Paris at night I proposed. To which Caroline responded.....yep you guessed it “Seriously”. Upon repeating the question, another (more excited and higher pitched) “Seriously” was heard. On confirming for the third time that I was not in fact joking, the ring was taken from my hand and put on her finger. At this point I asked “Does this mean Yes?”, to which I was handed back the ring and ordered down on one knee. Joyously at the 4th time of asking I got confirmation that I could now relax and watch the rugby match on Saturday without the extra nervousness I was anticipating.



The point of this article is as follows: I have now heard the above story hundreds of times as Caroline has described it to friends and family. While balcony and Paris are a common theme, the story in no way resembles what happened from what I describe above. What I have heard described is in fact the perfect engagement with fireworks and doves been released at the moment she said yes. No mention of course of the toothbrush or the first 3 attempts.

So gentlemen everywhere remember this one indisputable fact. No matter how you do it, no matter how much you plan, no matter where you go, something WILL go wrong. But don’t worry or fret because when it described in years to come it will be the perfect engagement. Seriously....

1. Let the Battle Commence...

As a sporting enthusiast I am always enthralled by the many great sports rivalries there have been down through the years. Muhammad Ali vs. Joe Frazier, Arnold Palmer vs. Jack Nicklaus, Celtics vs. Lakers aka (Larry Bird vs. Magic Johnson), Manchester United vs. Liverpool to name a few.

In Ireland over the last 10 years or so one of the biggest and longest running rivalries, Leinster vs. Munster has been played out on the rugby field. On May 9th of this year 15 gladiators from the southern province, travelled north for a battle that would determine the high Kings of Irish rugby. Much like the Irish civil war of 1921, it was a nation divided. Husbands and wives, best friends, work colleagues and in some cases siblings chose their sides and set out their stall. On the battlefield of Croke Park, in front of a world record +80,000 attendance the Leinster men ran out victorious over their Munster kin.

In defeat for many it was a gut wrenching experience. They could take solace in the fact that they could return south with their brothers in arms and console themselves surrounded by people who felt and shared their pain. For those behind enemy lines the prospect of going to work the following Monday was too much to think about. For me it had a more staggering and profound meaning. I am at the beginning of my own personal Munster vs. Leinster battle. Like a rugby game, a Wedding has a day of destiny at the end of long road of preperation. This battle however will have been fought and won long before we take to the Field/Aisle.

Was this rugby match a sign of things to come? Am I doomed to defeat in all decisions location, suit colour, cake size, date, church, flowers, hotel, pictures etc etc AHHHHHHH.

Breath John.

Frankie says Relax.

Just remember the most important thing is that she said YES to getting married. Little does she know it, but you’ve already won.

So sit back, enjoy and let the battle commence.......