Decisions...

One of the things I have to remember is not to outdress the bride. However, Jess and I have decided that for the sake of having a fun and interesting day that I'm going to call up the dwindling and diminished celtic genes rattling around in here somewhere and don the traditional garb of my ancient maternal ancestors: the kilt. One bonus of this choice is that I'll never go short of Burns' Night invitations. For all you doubters out there who are wondering where I get off wearing a kilt, I once knew this Jamaican called Errol Campbell and he used to wear a kilt to social events. Thanks Errol for providing cover for my vaguely misappropriated satorial choice.

My spurious connection with Scotland comes through my mother, she of the Wilson family (bred like rabbits, that lot: cf. Harold, Woodrow, and August to name a few most likely unrelated Wilsons of note). Unfortunately, the Wilson tartan is not the most attractive plaid in the world. Fortunately, eons ago the Wilsons came under the wing of the Clan Gunn (including mad Ben Gunn from Treasure Island and Bryan Gunn, ace Norwich City goalkeeper) and so I'm entitled to wear the infintely more lovely Gunn tartan.

The trouble is that kilts and all the accoutrements are pretty flashy. Between the sporran (aka hairy man-purse), the sgian dubh, and the kilt itself, the whole ensemble is pretty glam. Luckily, most tartans come in three shades of decreasing intensity; modern, ancient, and hunting. So onto the examples:

MODERN
ANCIENT
HUNTING
I'm leaning towards modern, but we shall see. And for those of you wondering what I'll wear to balance out my different traditions, my father very kindly sent me a gold Essex Yeomanry lapel pin to wear in memory of my paternal grandparents:
.
I also own a pair of Admiral Nelson cufflinks, but that might be a bit much. We'll see.