Alcopops and Pap
I’d like to say that I had a weekend of high culture and low alcohol consumption, but I really can’t. Sorry.
Friday
The wedding was very good. Some notes, scraped off of the floor of my brain:
The location excellent, I’d share a link with you, but I can’t. Risley Hall of Nottingham doesn’t seem to currently have a web presence.
The weather stayed fine, despite all forecasts predicting otherwise.
“Jim” looked as any bride should: radiant, beautiful, and very happy.
After I’d teased certain members of the family about crying a few days before, what do I do? Yes, I blubbed like a baby. For which I’m slightly embarrassed about. Someday I hope to gain some sort of control over my tear ducts. I didn’t get drunk though, despite what some may think.
- 1 x dark rum & coke
- 2 x bottles of Blackthorn, yuk! but it was the only cider they had
- 2 glasses of red wine
- 1 glass of champagne, or cava, or sparkling wine - the truth about which is something only those in the know err, know
- 2 x Smirnoff Black Ices
- does not get me drunk. Not over a period of about 7 hours, with a slap-up meal in the middle-ish.
It didn’t help with my photography skills. But then I’m rubbish with cameras. Despite that, I did manage one photo that I’m particularly proud of. Once I’ve figured flickr out, and the pics are a little more presentable, I may share them with someone.
Dad’s speech was amazingly short. Too short really, not even a teeny-tiny embarrassing story told. Nor did he sneak in the word weasel. Tragic.
No fights occurred, well not that I could see. Or maybe everyone held off on that until the disco, but we left before that kicked off.
The least said about my brother, the better. So I won’t say anything more.
More may well have happened, and if I ever remember it, I’ll update this.
Saturday
Ah Ha! Eurovision time again. And this year I definitely got drunk drank somewhat. Oh, and ate cheese. Cheese, wine, Terry Wogan and crap songs - perfecto!
Sunday
Ouch! Thus, a late rising from my bed and a generally lazy day. And besides, my feet were still in recovery.
(Another!) Lesson learnt, the hard way: Do Not wear flip-flops for the first time in a year when one’s feet are soft and unused to the tough life of fresh air to an important do. Blood blisters on the soles of my feet are not fun things to experience. Although, they did produce some highly-comedic silly-walking.
