On day one in their first house, he got down on one knee with a Cinderella carriage.

Their story

Picture it: outside The Innishmoore in Coatbridge. Lynsay is on the phone to her sister Natalie, and Natalie has Lynsay's bag. No bag means no money, and no money means no drink. Gary, standing close enough to hear every word of this, spots his moment and goes with "I can buy you a drink," in the firm belief that he is being very cool. It worked. They spent the rest of the night together and he saw her home in a taxi. Not the most elaborate beginning I have ever written up, and it has lasted better than most.

The first proper date was Hollywood Bowling in Coatbridge, then The Arches that weekend, which will make a certain generation of Glaswegians go quiet for a second. Gary had Lynsay down as fun-loving and easy going, and his own verdict at the time is hard to improve on: "This is exactly what I was looking for."

Then he met the family. Lynsay's family is a big clan: mum, dad, three sisters, a brother, nieces, nephews, aunties, uncles and a steady traffic of pals through the front door. Every time Gary turned round there was a new face and another name to learn. He coped. He also, early on, went up to the loft for a cigarette the morning after a late one, wearing his boxers and nothing else, on the understanding that the house was empty. It was not. Lynsay's brother Marc came home with about nine friends, none of whom Gary had met. He has been known as Naked Guy ever since, and Lynsay's mum and dad found out at the wedding. From me. Sorry.

They are proper opposites. Lynsay can meet a stranger and have a new pal inside five minutes. Gary does not do small talk. On holiday he wants excursions and sightseeing, and she wants the pool, a book and some peace. So they take turns choosing, each of them gets to watch the other one hate it, and they both find this hilarious. The shared bit is big: days out, escape rooms, good food, a good drink, and a house full of laughing.

The proposal, and a Cinderella box

They moved in together in 2012, a wee party flat with plenty of wild nights in it, and in 2015 they bought their first house. On the very first day, walking into the empty living room together for the first time, Gary got down on one knee. He had already asked her parents. The ring was in a tiny Cinderella carriage box, because Cinderella was Lynsay's favourite film growing up. Lynsay was so shocked she slapped him and told him to get up. She did say yes. Eventually.

Tommy arrived in 2019. They moved to a bigger house in 2024, and in 2025 along came Sophie, who I am reliably informed is beautiful and crazy in equal measure. By the time they got round to the wedding, the family was complete and it was all standing at the front with them.

The ceremony

The room had been dressed in white: a white runner down the middle of the tartan carpet, trees of white blossom at the front, and a top table buried in white roses. Gary stood at the front in his kilt, a wee bit nervous. The piper brought in the bridesmaids, with Natalie as maid of honour, then Lynsay with her dad, and because the ceremony was unplugged, every face in the room was turned towards her.

The secrets were the best of it. I ask every couple to send me, privately, three things they love about each other and one wee thing that could do with some work, and I read them out for the first time in front of everybody. Lynsay called Gary "the calm to my madness", and admitted he is also the one winding her up ninety per cent of the time. His wee thing that needs work: the way he wears his trousers. Pull them up. Gary said Lynsay is an exceptional mum, never takes herself too seriously and always looks for the good in people. Her wee thing? The cooking. I suggested they had both earned a drink.

They wanted traditional vows, so they had them. Then I asked the room the one question with only one correct answer, whether they would stand by these two through the highs and the lows, and got a very loud "We do!" from a family that is clearly used to making itself heard. Tommy came forward with the rings, Gary and Lynsay made their declarations, and they signed the schedule at that table full of roses with their two witnesses beside them. Then the piper played them back out, and Gary could not stop grinning.

Marrying at The Tudor Hotel yourself?

It is a family-run hotel in the middle of Airdrie, and the big draw is that the whole day happens under one roof: ceremony, meal, dancing and a bed upstairs. The hotel has two function suites, the Tudor Suite for up to 200 seated for a meal and the smaller Parkers for up to 70, so ask the wedding coordinator early which room they will set for your ceremony and how the turnaround to dinner works.

Three practical things from the day. First, the hotel's standard check-in is 2pm, so if you are getting ready upstairs for an early afternoon ceremony, agree your room access in advance. Second, a piper indoors is gloriously loud, and putting them at the back doors to play you in and out, as Gary and Lynsay did, works perfectly in a room this size. Third, the hotel is a four-minute walk from the station, Airdrie has direct trains from Glasgow Queen Street and Edinburgh, and there is free parking on site, so nobody has an excuse.

There is more on the rooms and the logistics in my Tudor Hotel venue guide, and my Glasgow wedding celebrant page covers the city and the towns around it. If you are wondering whether a hotel wedding has to be a civil one, it does not: here is how a humanist ceremony compares with a civil one. For the running order of the day, read what happens at a humanist wedding, and if you are deciding who walks you in, I have written about who gives you away too.