weddings and culottes and boys, oh my!

Bla. Job stuff. Thankfully it's half term, but I shall try and get something more written in here. Must be about two years since I started it so it'd be a shame to give up.

I’m just recovering from a double whammy of weddings this week. My friend of some 23 years had her wedding on Sunday and my father’s wedding (!) on Tuesday. The latter, I was not invited to. Nor anyone else, I’m told. They went up to the Gleneagles hotel in Scotland, which is very posh apparently. They had a whole suite. Speaking to my father on the day at about 9ish (He: giddy as a schoolgirl. Me: slightly freaked out.) revealed that the suite was about the size of a cricket pitch. So. Pretty good then. Sounds like the way to do it. No one else around to stare and make comments. But he seems deliriously happy so it's all good.

They sent me what was obviously a group text message signed “Mr. and Mrs”. (Blargh!) As I replied to his group email telling everyone he was moving with his ‘soul mate’ together a couple of years ago: ‘Father, you are the very essence of cheese.’
For shame. How am I related to this man?!

None of the other brides I have attended the wedding of have sent me cutesy next day text messages. Not that my father is a bride. T’s wedding was really nice, actually. No rehearsal of walking down the aisle or anything. Just get in, get down there and wear a fab dress. Dress was actually a little on the large side. I thought I’d fattened myself into it, but apparently not. Everyone kept saying it was a lovely colour (wine) which is not quite the compliment one is looking for. Well that’s what they were saying to me in between all the ‘When’s it your turn?’ bollocks. I was saying ‘Uh. I don’t think I really want to get married…’ Their reply was invariably ‘Rubbish! You will one day soon.’ Yes, well said all you people who have known me for about five minutes. Time was a little short for me to get myself settled in for the whole ‘It’s not commitment I’m opposed to, but merely the whole big white wedding thing. Why can’t we just live together and have lots of fat children and dogs and live our lives etc…’ because people can’t bear the thought that a woman of 30 odd would actually consider not getting married. Surely living in sin is OK now. I think God’s got over that one. Jeez.

After that wedding, during which I stayed in a hotel on a golf course and had the biggest room with two double beds! Hurrah for extortionate luxury and all things pure! I spent a happy couple of days napping and reading and learning to play the guitar again. Today I learnt the chord changes for Wonderwall. Or rather learnt to read them off a sheet of paper, as I can’t remember them. There’s one called A7sus4, which I’m particularly fond of. If you give it a good strum you sound ready to read the children a bible story around the camp fire roasting s’mores. Or roasting something American. Bison? Roadkill? Whatever. Anyway, I can’t play Wonderwall properly because I haven’t got a capo or whatever those things are called which move the bar down (actually, I can’t play anything properly – I’m rather shit…)

That and wearing my fringe in a selection of interesting styles because I can’t be bothered to style it. Today – weird sparkly clip on side of head. Sadly only three quarters of the fringe fits in and the rest roams free on my head in the style of Einstein. I have elected to twin this rather fierce hairdo with the most enormous pair of khaki boarding shorts known to man. I make Steve Irwin’s saggy khaki two-piece look like hot pants. So I look like I've been savagely beaten with the ugly stick. When she first saw said shorts, my mother asked if they were culottes. Terrifying. Does anyone wear culottes any more?! Apart from this woman at work. And I thought it was a long and voluminous cotton floral skirt number. When I realised it had legs, I had to shut myself in the staff loo for five minutes to recover from the all encompassing hysteria.

So. I’m not looking forward to going back to work. I was feeling all fond of the little shits on Friday night when I went up to suggest that they shut the hell up at around 10.00. Sweeeeeet. No back chat at all. No pretend sneezing, or snoring, just obedient silence. My favourite kind. Of course I’d found out that we had an eight week holiday coming up so that could have affected me slightly. Certainly hadn't had a chance to get pissed yet.

Well. I've just noticed that the saving and publishing thing isn't working so I look forwards to a little techno-rage to brighten my evening.