Nothing (much) To Report

The Wedding of the Year is on 27^th August, but..

How do I get out of another hen night, politely?

That’s the current thought that’s running loose in my head. Wearing bunny ears and bunny tails amidst drunks in Ibiza is one thing, wearing the same combination in your home town, amongst drunks is quite another.

[The drunks of Ibiza where mostly Brits (un-surprisingly), but as far as I could tell there wasn’t anything of the usual crap that goes with drunk English types. I could also have been so drunk myself to be blind to any violence or trouble, it’s entirely possible. Our special status gave us certain privileges, like free drinks. Free cocktail for each of us at the first bar we went to; free cocktail with the first drink bought at the next. The rest of the bars were giving away a certain number of free shots with the first drink bought – peach schnapps shots. I downed my three shots at the next bar we were in; someone else gave me their three unwanted shots. The bride didn’t want her last shot, so I had that. In total, and I can’t quite believe I actual remember this; I did 15 shots that night. All bloody peach schnapps. I never want to go near that stuff again; my stomach is churning just thinking about it.]

It’s not that I’m bothered that someone might recognise me and point and laugh, cos: 1. I don’t wander/loiter about the streets enough to know anyone in this city, and 2. I’m quite used to being on the receiving end of pointing and laughing from strangers.

My aversion to pub crawls/clubbing has more to do with the general bad experiences I have whilst out drinking. Nothing monumentally bad, just a large dollop of stupidity on my part, which is why I prefer to get drunk on my own and at home. Tis so much safer, and nearer one’s own bed. That sounds sad to you probably, but entirely seems sensible to me and besides, it’s considerably cheaper.

There are other reasons for not wanting to take part in Saturday 6^th's activities too. I’ve come to realise that I’m a solitary person by nature; I can do being on my own quite well, it doesn’t bother to be left alone to think, to wander, to do what I like really. Being part of a group situation doesn’t really allow that.
One of the last time’s I went out ‘on the town’ with the bride-to-be (who doesn’t ever remember going out clubbing with me!) I left them to it and walked home. Not being pissed, having one’s hearing ruined a little more than I’ve managed to achieve by myself and surrounded by people convinced they’re enjoying themselves isn’t really my ideal way of spending a night. And because I have this tendency to wander off through sheer boredom, the soon-to-be-Mrs gets very bossy with me. This never goes down well with me, and I think picking a fight two weeks before her wedding wouldn’t be wise.

More wedding stuff: I have shoes. They’re not the right colour, i.e. they don’t match the dress, but they fit. I’m not likely to be showing off my feet and no one’s gonna be inclined to look.

There was a hair trial yesterday. I’ve never had so many people discussing the back of my head before, regarding how my hair should go up (I have too much hair it seems for anything simple to be done, tis also quite thick which doesn’t help – never known my healthly head of hair to be a drawback) and what sparkly bits should be added. It’s obligatory that we all have sparkly bits.
Looks like I’ll have a nice 6 o’clock start on the day; hope to Whoever I am not still awake at 4am!

I’ve given my brother permission to shoot me if I should let the madness of marriage enter my head in any serious fashion.

I'm just beginning to realise that I'm more of a freak than I always thought I was. Not to look at…. no, that's plainly false for a start. It seems a fat girl wearing a hat in hot weather is a particularly unusual and disturbing start around these parts. And frankly, who can blame the chavs of Linden not to gape at such a spectacle. I would’ve, if I was brave enough to look at myself in a mirror. I digress from the actual thoughts that had collected themselves in a nice neat orderly queue, for once.

The reason for feeling especially freaksome today is due in part to recent events. For the first time ever, I voiced something which has long bothered me, and I received a more or less “you are heartless!” look for it: I’ve never quite understood why people feel the need to place flowers near the site of someone’s demise. Be it a car accident or bomb blast, or for a dramatic example, outside Kensington Palace after Diana’s death.

I fully understand humanity's need to grieve but why do people need to display a public show of sympathy in this way? Is it simply a cultural thing? It is more polite than openly crying; I suppose our society isn’t comfortable with seeing strangers wailing about the tragic loss of life of someone they would have never have met, or indeed, a greatly-missed loved one.

And condolences books, why? Who are these books to be read by? The living of future generations, to see that we were all very upset by what happened, and that we wish we could somehow make it all go away?

Is it simply a contemporary show of support for our fellow human sufferings, to show those around us that we do care, that we wish we could do something more than make somewhat feeble and unremarkable offerings of sorrow? Which is exactly how I feel towards all the victims of the London bombs: feeble, pathetically sorry and helpless. I don’t believe that signing a book or buying some flowers to rot quietly on a pavement somewhere will change the way I feel. Perhaps it does help others and that’s exactly why they do it.

Maybe I’m completely missing the part of the brain that understands these things.

I think it’s a part that is closely connected to the area that causes women to get very excitable about shoes.