Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Nice day for a white wedding

First off, an illustration of why Oxbridge graduates should not attempt drunken trash talk:

Him: "Come on, come inside and throw some shapes, you lazy cow."
Me: "What? How dare you! Mate, my shapes are twice as potent as your shapes."
Him: "Says who? My shapes are... geometry."
Me: "Oh yeah? I am Euclid to your Pythagoras. Uh."

To Wales this weekend for the wedding of a fellow hack I met whilst 'training' to be a journalist. It was a glorious weekend, with perfect weather on the day itself, and I am now ploughing all my energies into resisting the urge to plan my own wedding, a) because that's perhaps being overly optimistic; and b) because as a woman one has to affect nonchalance for all such things in order not to scare away men. (Although bad news, chaps: I have already decided against a cash bar, mainly because I have realised that all my friends are borderline alcoholics and also because my mother has never been drunk and probably doesn't realise that people can actually get as drunk as we were on Saturday and still survive unscathed.)

It's always nice to take the opportunity to dress up, I feel, and so I had raided Accessorise the day before for a 'fascinator' - not a word or concept with which I had previously been familiar - which was basically some white feathers stuck on to a headband. I began to have second thoughts just before we set off from the hotel to the ceremony - nothing makes you feel more like a twat than wandering in to a pub in a tiny Welsh village with what appears to be a dead albatross affixed to your head.

The tiny Welsh village laboured under the name of Usk, crippling all conversation for the weekend as everyone flailed desperately for the best Usk-based pun. "You're taking quite a rusk" and "That would be a mammoth tusk" probably win out for sheer wanton cruelty to the English language. Although undoubtedly the best set-up Usk pun award goes to ex-blogger Guttersniper, who listened politely to my story about Corrievorrie (recognising someone too soon in a long corridor) and the Meaning of Liff, before pronouncing, "Yes, that happened to me once. I was in a a restaurant. Eating oysters. Which... is... a.... mollusc!" He then smirked for fully half an hour.

I won't talk about the wedding, or fear of sounding too much like a maiden aunt (it was just beautiful, sniff), although the happy couple do get my eternal respect for picking She Bangs The Drums as their first song - even if it is, frankly, no Lady In Red.

The reception venue was gorgeous too. "Ah," said the groom, "that was a stroke of luck, we only got this two weeks ago. The couple who had booked it... well, they had a huge row and cancelled the wedding."
"Why did they have a huge row?" I said.
"Er... he had an affair."

Further proving that the seven-strong journo contingent were the guests from hell, two of our number decided to, er, abuse the facilities provided by the hotel, much to the chagrin of the bride's mother ("They must have some sort of fetish, dear!") . Then at midnight, we were put on a bus back to Usk (Cue: "where are we going?" "Don't usk me!" etc) where we "entertained" the lovely middle-aged couple also going back there with quite a lot of Bohemian Rhapsody and also some sort of rugby song that involved shouting "purple helmet" a lot as far as I can recall.

When we got back the hotel bar was still open, provoking squeals of delight from my housemate and her best friend. Foolishly, someone (yeah, me) then took the opportunity to ask Artegall what he thought of Johann Hari. The answer is not even vaguely printable in a family blog.

Ten minutes later, I was chugging back a Smirnoff Ice and trying to trash talk in French, which is the usual signal I've had one too many. "Mais...mais...tu es une putain! Branleur! Ton chatte a la rage!"

It was time for bed.

But minor problems - like the fact we've probably been given an Asbo in absentia by Usk Magistrates Court - aside, it was one of the best weekends I've had in ages. The quality of chat you get from people who use words for a living is always high, and I can't think of a better-suited couple than the newlyweds - or one more deserving of happiness.

Now - must. not. envisage. own. wedding.


Anonymous Ali said...

This isn't strictly on topic but why do you have to write out the floaty letters you can see, in order to post a comment? Just wondering.

6/20/2006 3:09 pm  
Anonymous galatea said...

It's to check that it's a real person writing a comment, not a comment bot. Otherwise you tend to get loads of comments saying, "Great blog! Check out my free Viagra here!"

Then i get all excited I've got a comment and then I read it and it makes me sad.

6/20/2006 5:04 pm  
Anonymous Ali P said...

I see. I love the idea of lots of exploited comment bots sitting despondently in a Silicon Valley warehouse.

Not sure my techy question comment can have excited you much more than a herbal prosac promotion. Apologies.

6/21/2006 10:59 am  
Blogger Paul B said...

I'm loving the trash talk. It's a skill I've never been able to master. I think telling someone their pussy has rabies in French is perhaps the highlight. I'll have to try that one next time I'm in Paris.

6/21/2006 12:47 pm  
Blogger galatea said...

There's also Artegall's favourite, "J'ai taché mes pantalons!" which is simple yet effective.

6/21/2006 1:12 pm  

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