OCCUPIED COUNTRY

Love and Marriage

A really good change at Easter - off to the wedding of one of Eldest and Youngest's best friends. A particularly crappy drive down to Newmarket on Good Friday was more than made up for by the rather nice hotel we stayed in.

A refreshing ceremony as well. Not one reference to fairy stories as the happy couple were spliced at a CIVIL ceremony. Y'know what I didn't know about these affairs is that there can be no reference to religion at all. Consequently "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys was a no-no but "I've Got You Under My Skin" by Frank Sinatra was OK. (And all the better for it I thought). Poems were read, music was played, vows were exchanged and then we all retired to the dining room for food and speeches.

Eldest was a joint best man with the groom's brother. They had written the speech in tandem and it bore all the hallmarks of their twisted sense of humour. Apparently the groom had "more skeletons in his closet than Fred West", but they had managed to whittle the list of misdemeanours down so that it wasn't too tedious: "longer than Abu Hamza's arm but shorter than Ken Bigley's neck" (Ouch!).

After food and, crucially, drink, the younger folk went kicking a ball about in the gardens whilst I busied myself photographing the fornicating ladybirds you see above. Rampant sex on OccupiedCountry's blog? Who'd a thunk it?

After a while watching the kids footballing, it occured to me that here was an opportunity to kick a ball again. Something I haven't done for more years than I care to remember. The next think the ball is walloped into the air and I see my chancee to volley it as hard as possible. I leapt like a salmon and hit it good and proper - the kids were impressed at first, then amazed as I continued my trajectory - "arse over tit" I think the phrase is. Seconds later I hit the hard gravel floor and my head smacks the ground like a hammer. After the initial shock and pain I was OK. My wedding trousers and shirt however were full of crap - all down the back. The kids (kids? They're all 30-ish!) rallied round trying to get as much muck off me as possibe, perhaps sensing that they too would be in the women's bad books.

In the end we knew we couldn't get all the crap off my clothes and so I had to sheepishly go back to the wedding with everyone noticing. I put my head down, wrung my hands and said:

"I fell".

Like a five-year-old.

It worked. Dearest and the others looked at each other with that look that women have mastered that let's us men know just how inadequate we are, without them having to bother thinking of words that can express the same sentiment.

Well it was either that or the wine that Dearest and the rest had been drinking.

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My Dad's slightly better and, more or less, keeping on an even keel. Hopefully he's learnt his lesson and will make more of an effort to eat and drink.

Here's hoping.