my gazette column

Mike Shotton is 32 and lives in Billingham. He works as a sound man for a film production company. His interests include music, preferably live, film, reading, travel, politics, following Boro and writing. This is his second week.

THERE are many events in life that need planning - holidays, funerals, and, of course, weddings.
Generally these events will go just as planned. In some cases there may be the odd glitch, things that didn’t go exactly according to plan, small details overlooked, but these can be dealt with.
Sometimes, however, things that we plan for days, weeks or even months can go so wildly astray of the mark that when the stuff hits the fan we’re forced to rely on the kindness of strangers and small miracles.
This was the case last weekend at a wedding - my best friend’s wedding.
It was taking place in Durham, at two riverside venues on the weekend that saw the worst floods the city has seen in more than 100 years.
The groom, myself (best man) and two ushers awoke and did the usual - grabbed breakfast (sausage, bacon and egg sandwiches) and headed for the venue of the wedding.
Crook Hall, a beautiful old building in breathtaking grounds, can be reached from only one road. This road was under around three feet of muddy flood water, leaving ourselves and the guests no way of reaching it for the wedding at 3pm. It was now 10.20am and that amount of water wasn’t shifting in those few hours.
The four of us tunnelled like intrepid explorers for what seemed like hours through bushes, shrubs and overgrown nettles to reach our destination and check on its condition. What we found was a worried owner making desperate calls to anyone who could clear the water, or get us there clean, dry and safely.
We headed to the reception venue to set up. It was a rowing club built on the banks of the river a few years ago to withstand the predicted, but early in arrival, 100-year flood. Well someone had got their calculations wrong as the club, along with its car park, looked like a white water rafting course.
The groom stood, in borrowed wellies, dejected and beaten in the car park, water rushing past his knees and higher. The club manager started making calls for a new venue, and we headed for the hotel to change, worried and wondering what the day would hold.
At 2.30pm we arrived in a nearby car park, suited and booted, and were greeted by wedding guests and a kind stranger who had volunteered to drive us all through the flood water in his tractor and trailer.
The wedding went swimmingly (pardon the pun) and shortly before 3.30pm we got a call from the rowing club to say that in the last hour the three feet of water had disappeared completely and no replacement venue was required. Now that’s a little miracle.
The day had gone exactly as planned in the end (tractor rides aside).
The moral of the story? Next time you’re hurling expletives at the tractor you’re stuck behind, remember they can turn out to be quite useful.