A Blazing Bride & Other Perth Problems: Rusty Rings Reports from WA  

G’day From the West

Rusty Rings here, your roving reporter for nuptial nightmares and matrimonial mishaps. This week’s cautionary tale comes courtesy of Perth, Western Australia. Yep, good old WA. Where the sun’s hot, the beers are cold, and every second bloke you meet reckons he’s mates with Daniel Ricciardo.

I ended up over there because a mate of a mate, Kev, was marrying a girl named Tiff, and someone thought it’d be a cracking idea to invite me along. “Bring a bit of class to proceedings,” they said. Big mistake.

Anyway, I packed my cheapest Kmart suit, boarded the red-eye, and flew across the country like a budget rockstar. What could go wrong? (Hint: Everything.)

First Impressions: Candles & Chaos Waiting to Happen

Now, Perth weddings have a reputation for being a touch… excessive. If it’s not a beachside ceremony with a drone filming overhead, it’s a backyard job where half the guest list are FIFO workers in high-vis. This one was somewhere in between.

Venue was a trendy converted shearing shed in the Swan Valley. Real rustic chic—polished concrete floors, mason jar cocktails, and about 700 tealight candles scattered across every flat surface like they’d bulk ordered from eBay.

I walked in, took one look at the flickering death traps, and thought, “Yep. Someone’s gonna catch alight tonight.” Should’ve put a bet on.

The Bride, the Dress & a Disaster Waiting to Happen

Tiff—lovely girl. Big smile, bigger dress. You know the type, enough tulle to tarp a cricket pitch. It was a vision of white fluff and hope, moving through a room lit exclusively by open flames and bad decisions.

The temperature inside was about 34 degrees. The blokes were sweating through their shirts, the bridesmaids’ makeup was slowly heading south, and I was clinging to a Carlton like it was a life raft.

To top it off, the scent in the air was a mix of lavender, vanilla, and something called “Ocean Breeze” — which smelled suspiciously like Lynx Africa left on the dashboard of a Datsun.

The Moment It All Went Up

Now here’s where things get interesting.

Tiff’s making her rounds, giving hugs, dodging Uncle Darren’s inappropriate remarks, and pausing for photos next to those bloody tea light candles. She leans in to give Auntie Bev a kiss on the cheek, and, you guessed it, one rogue tail-end of tulle brushes over a candle perched on a wine barrel.

Whoomph. Up it goes. Faster than a Bunnings sausage sizzle on a windy day.

At first, no one reacted. I honestly thought it was one of those dramatic special effects. You know, like those indoor fireworks you see at Greek weddings. Turns out, it was just old-fashioned tulle and an open flame.

Panic Stations: Perth Style

Cue chaos. The groom, Kev, runs in flapping a stubby holder at the flames. Bridesmaid Shazza shrieks, grabs a bottle of Passion Pop, and tries to pour it on the fire—somehow making it worse. Uncle Wayne heroically throws a schooner over it, but not before polishing off half of it first. Priorities.

The DJ, bless him, doesn’t miss a beat. Flicks off Ed Sheeran mid-ballad and slaps on Burning Love by Elvis. Absolute pro.

Meanwhile, I’m leaning against a post, sipping my beer, thinking, “Yep—classic Perth.”

The Aftermath & Comeback Queen

Fortunately, no one was hurt. Tiff ended up with a slightly singed dress and a story she can dine out on for years. Someone whipped up a makeshift sash out of table linen, she swapped to a spare frock (turns out, WA brides travel prepared), and the party barely missed a beat.

The blokes toasted her survival, the DJ doubled down on fire-themed tracks (Disco Inferno was a crowd-pleaser), and Shazza swore off tea light candles for life.

I haven’t laughed that hard since the time a best man in Kalgoorlie tried to break up a bar fight mid-speech.

Lessons Learnt from Rusty

This wedding taught me three very important things:

1. Never mix tealight candles and excessive tulle.
2. Perth people are deadset legends under pressure.
3. Every wedding should have a backup dress, a fire extinguisher, and an Elvis impersonator on standby.

It also confirmed my long-held belief that no good story ever started with “We had a lovely, incident-free day.”

So if you’re planning a Perth wedding, maybe ditch the tea lights, stick to fairy lights, and keep your Auntie Bev well away from open flames.

And if you see a scruffy bloke at your reception, nursing a Carlton and scribbling in a notebook—odds are, it’s me. Rusty Rings. Reporting live from the front lines of wedding chaos.