Mimosas, mud and 'Trinity, would you mind?' How to save a wet wedding with an Ineos Grenadier Quartermaster
Weddings are always a hectic affair, but if you want to actually make yourself useful to the bride and groom, you best turn up in a small tank, advises Trinity Francis.
A little over a year ago, a beautiful invitation dropped into my inbox (how millennial) that informed me my dear cousin and his gorgeous fiancée were tying the knot. The setting? A 15th-century barn on Symondsbury Estate, less than five miles from the Jurassic Coast. Naturally, my first concern was not where to stay or what to wear, but what would be the perfect wedding guest car.
All the best wedding cars have been well documented — they’re typically something you wouldn’t get to drive in daily life, be that down to their prohibitive price tag or rarity. Think of your Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, E-Types, DB5s, and so on. Although some to-be-weds opt for old bangers that have a sentimental significance, you can normally, and should, bet on the wedding car being the most impressive chariot on the big day.
However, when it comes to choosing the best wedding guest car, little has been written and perhaps even less understood. You don’t want to upstage the bride and groom's carriage of choice, but equally you don’t want to get lost in a car park of Range Rover Evoques and Sports. It’s a fine line to tread. Ideally, it wants to be something no one else is going to turn up in, but also practical enough to help with any disaster-averting errands.
'Despite being told multiple times that we weren’t doing fascinators, she still insisted on wearing one because, "Princess Beatrice still does"'
To determine what makes the best wedding guest car, we must consider the circumstances and the role of the wedding guest. Is it urban or rural? July or November? Maid of honour or ring bearer? In my case it will be Dorset, the August bank holiday and general family member #14. We are hoping for sun, but it will probably be muddy and I could be asked to do anything from ferrying granny back to the Airbnb after one too many Chablis, to picking up the DJ and all their gear after his 1976 VW campervan breaks down.
Having done some reconnaissance a few months before when visiting family (yes, I am fun at parties), I knew the main and overflow car parks were effectively graded dirt and gravel, on an incline, uphill from the venue. With this in mind, and that regardless of the time of year you can always half expect rain as a wedding crasher, we’re going to want something with a two-speed transfer box and diff-lock just in case.
Since it’s the end of August precipitation is likely, but it’s also the last of the summer wine, we'll undoubtedly hit congested roads with holdout holidaymakers and caravans in tow. So, nothing sporty or low slung, as we won’t be going anywhere fast. The aim of the game is riding in comfort, high up to see over hatchbacks and around winding lanes.
Not ideal terrain for high heels.
Dorset is Land Rover country. Every model year and conceivable configuration retires here after hard yards in the fields, now resigned to doing over-priced faux farm shop runs and chauffeuring cockapoos to brunch. Anything too flash will elicit hypocritical accusations of Chelsea tractors. We want salt-of-the-earth credentials and nouveau-country-folk approval.
Family obligations are the make or break for a wedding guest car, but with a little experience and foresight you can anticipate almost any eventuality, no matter how eccentric or patience testing. If you’re a younger guest like me, driving rather than drinking, you’re going to get asked to ferry the infirm, tiddly or both. That means a minimum of five seats, plenty of room for gifts and headroom for all manner of headdress. But once you’re amenable to transport someone, you are inevitably going to be asked to haul some thing, so boot space for all and sundry is a must.
With these all important criteria in mind, I opted for the Ineos Grenadier Quartermaster Black Edition. Sensible.
As expected, I got caught behind every flavour of tentbox, caravan, campervan and motorhome headed down South for the bank holiday weekend. Crisp air conditioning and an outstanding sound system made the paint-drying traffic tolerable and the start-stop engine meant my wallet wasn’t completely empty after the five-hour drive.
On the morning of the wedding, that auntie (you know the one) pre-gamed the breakfast mimosas a little too hard and needed a shuttle to the venue. Apparently, there was ‘no longer space’ for her in any of the wedding procession cars… And, despite being told multiple times that we weren’t doing fascinators, she still insisted on wearing one because, ‘Princess Beatrice still does'. Fortunately, for both of us, there were no issues accommodating the obnoxious ornamentation.
'A small but growing group of gentleman guests were crowded round the Quartermaster in its tuxedo, which in turn was surrounded by a sea of navy Range Rovers and Land Rovers'
My weather prediction soon became a reality. The heavens opened and the car park turned to sludge. Elevated on 18-inch alloys and chunky Bridgestones, we had no problem negotiating the rivers and ponds forming in the claggy conditions; and thankfully, the JBL subwoofer in the rear, right under that auntie, drowned out the back seat driving.
The rain was truly torrential. Auspiciously, but quite unplanned, this particular Quartermaster came with a 270 degree batwing awning. Aside from evoking images of Bruce and Alfred sitting on folding chairs in a Caravan and Motorhome Club campsite, sipping tea from the Bat-Thermos, it was a life saver. The wing spanned the entirety of the passenger side so we all popped out dry (save my better half, who extended the awning) and deployed our Bat-Umbrellas for a quick dash to the church.
After the ceremony, the clouds parted, giving everyone enough time to make it back to their cars and onto the reception. A small but growing group of gentleman guests were crowded round the Quartermaster in its tuxedo, which in turn was surrounded by a sea of navy Range Rovers and Land Rovers. The attention was short-lived though. As the bridal car came to collect the newlyweds, the crowd dispersed to fawn over the English White Rolls-Royce Phantom, adorned with matching ribbon and stringed tin cans.
When you've forgotten the rings, handy to take the most direct route.
While trying to negotiate the fleet of Rovers Land and Range all trying to leave at once, one of the bridal cars picked up a puncture, which meant I now needed to ferry four new passengers — three bridesmaids and the ring bearer (Pippa the cockapoo), along with a boot load of booze to the reception venue. Which sadly meant that auntie would need to find alternative transportation to the reception. What rotten luck.
I almost made it to Cinderella time without further incident, but there was one final 'Trinity, would you mind…?'. I was introduced to three groomsmen holding each other up like a tipsy-teepee, covered head-to-toe in muck from trying, and failing, to traverse the sodden field standing between them and their accommodation. My other half herded them into the truck bed, shut the tonneau cover and we took a very gentle drive across the field to reunite them with their long suffering girlfriends.
Most will deride the Quartermaster as overkill for the seemingly simple task(s) of a wedding guest car, but much like the people that scoff at the humble doomsday prepper, they’ll all be running to you when the zombies come, begging for shelter and your tins of SPAM.
