No life
. . and a wreck
Toby Young
I've just returned from my first society Wedding and, I have to say, I'm a complete wreck. The reason I found it such a nerve- shredding experience is that I've yet to master the etiquette of the social kiss. According to Lynda Lee-Potter's new book on English manners, Class Act, 'Nowhere are class distinctions more clearly demon- strated than on a shoot.' I beg to differ. Social kissing is the arena in which class origins reveal themselves most nakedly. As one of the ushers at the wedding, my main Job was to greet people as they arrived at the church, kissing them if they displayed the slightest hint of recognition. This wouldn't have been so daunting if it wasn't for the fact that there were more than 800 guests.
I'm not talking about the basics of kissing etiquette, which are clear enough. I know, for instance, that if a man is uncertain Whether it's appropriate for him to kiss a woman he should wait to see whether she inclines her head towards him before puck- ering his lips. I also know that the number of times you're supposed to kiss someone varies according to their nationality. The Swiss, for instance, generally kiss each Other three times, while the Americans kiss only once. However, when two people from different countries kiss each other, Which country's etiquette should take prior- fly? I imagine this will be a matter of some importance at the forthcoming Nice summit.
The wedding in question was between Hugh Warrender, a charming English rogue, and Beatrice Vincenzini, a beautiful Italian heiress. I first met Hugh four years ago in New York and became friends with him when the two of us shared a house with three other people on Shelter Island in the summer of 1998. I was initially delighted when he asked me to be an usher, primarily because it enabled me to ruffle the feathers of various friends of his whom he hadn't asked by casually dropping the fact into conversation.
'You?' they'd cry, recoiling in their seats. 'But I've know Hugh far longer than you.'
'Yes,' I'd reply, leaving the implication hanging that I was a much more socially desirable person than them.
The first blow of the day occurred when I ran my eye down the list of ushers in the order of service. I noticed that some of them had the word 'Hon' before their names, but not me. Ordinarily, that wouldn't have bothered me since my father's only a life peer. Technically, I'm allowed to use the title — I checked with the editor of the Court and Social pages of the Times — but I never do because when- ever I have people have always pointed out — wrongly — that I'm not entitled to. The annoying thing about this occasion was that Robert Hanson was described on the order of service as 'Hon' and his father's only a life peer as well. What makes him so much better than me, I'd like to know, apart from several million pounds and a supermodel girlfriend?
Then the kissing started. I was immedi- ately thrown through a loop when Rory Fleming, another of the people I shared a house with on Shelter Island, marched up to me and kissed me squarely on each cheek. Good God, I thought, will I be expected to kiss men as well as women? In this case, how do you discover whether you know someone well enough to kiss them or not? If both men wait patiently for the other's lead, they could be standing there all day. I blundered through this minefield as best I could but fear I left several mem- bers of the British .Establishment with the impression that they'd just been assaulted by a predatory homosexual.
The women, on the whole, posed fewer problems, though several of them left lip- stick marks on my cheeks instead of opting for the standard air kiss. The trouble with this was that, by the time I had about half- a-dozen, every woman who came up to me thought it would be amusing to add to the number. Consequently, by the time my fiancee mounted the church steps I was lit- erally covered with lipstick and, as a result, she was one of the few women who refused to kiss me that morning. She met my incli- nation of the head with a steely glare.
For students of modern kissing etiquette, the greatest surprise occurred at the end of the ceremony. To my astonishment, instead of lifting his bride's veil and giving her a long, passionate kiss, Hugh leant forward and kissed the priest. Somehow, however socially correct that may be, I can't see myself pulling that particular stunt at my own wedding.
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