What a Difference a Day Makes......24 Little Hours...
Friday found the entire OccupiedCountry clan attending the wedding of one of the boy's bestest friends. A great day all round. I even enjoyed the church service and thought the vicar spoke a lot of sense until he mentioned some guy who lives in the sky and knows and sees everything there is to know and see.Sadly what could have been a perfect day was frankly spoiled by the insistence of the Bride and Groom that the reception be held at Old Trafford - a football ground just outside Manchester.
In a break with tradition both Eldest and Youngest were 'joint best men'. Youngest was over the moon at the thoughts of quality time spent in the so-called 'Theatre of Dreams': Red to the core you see. But Eldest was distressed. As a season ticket holder at the City of Manchester Stadium where he sits next to his dad, he had to juggle with a profound paradox. How could he square his love for his best mate with putting hard earned money into the coffers of the 'World's Richest
Halfway through the speech, Eldest complained about being hot and sweaty. He let us all know that he needed to shed the heavy morning suit, waistcoat, tie and, indeed, shirt in order to cool off. I'll never forget the cheers that echoed round the Stretford Suite as he revealed the City shirt that he had been wearing under his wedding gear. An impromptu rendition of 'Blue Moon' raised the rafters as we realised that most of the Bride's family and friends were firmly of the blue persuasion.
Even the Reds had to agree - it was a perfect moment. Friendly banter - you can't beat it can you?
So that was Friday. Saturday saw most of Occupied Towers shuffling off to a party in deepest Prestwich. A and P are blessed with far too much disposable income and consequently every latest gadget can generally be tried out at theirs before it reaches the shops and stores of Manchester.
Most of these are shoved in a drawer or a cupboard after a few weeks but sometimes P digs one of them out for parties.
Saturday was Karaoke!
Eldest was still in post-speech mode and was knocking back the Kronenburg at a rate that would have the Labour Cabinet pointing and screaming "BINGE DRINKER". Eventually, for the first time in his life, the alcoholic levels reached that point where singing in front of total strangers seems perfectly reasonable.
At the wedding I had been heard to say "my boys..my God I'm proud of them. They look good, they've conducted themselves superbly and, between them they've helped the day be the unequivocal success that it is".
After hearing eldest on the Karaoke last night I was heard saying "I can't believe anyone with a voice a bad as that is a son of mine......"
We couldn't get the mike off him. He knew he was crap but, as he pointed out, that's what Karaoke is all about.
Well the new arrival appears tomorrow. We have to pick her up from Bolton Guide Dogs HQ. It's gonna be a culture shock having something with four legs in the abode again. It'll be a culture shock for me as well - I'll be another rung down the food chain as the dog's needs take precedence over mine. C'est la vie.
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