Knackered
Knackered. That's the only way to describe it.
I mean, a wedding at home is bad enough, but wading with the flowers is another matter. Of course, its a handy wedding present if you have the skill and the time. But Mum hasn't the height to lift her creations on to the church windows and the alter pieces.
And the roses! I know why brides love them, but they are a bugger to deal with. Touch them (ok, fondle is a bit closer) and they start fading (at least the 'tight' tea roses do, cabbage roses just fall apart after a few days without any help).
It's no the lifting or the late nights with the button holes and bouquets that has me. No, it's the stress of that she generates in her wake. Combine that with wedding nerves, it's sort of like near breakdown by proxy.
Never again. (How many times have I heard that one).
And it was a political wedding. Not joking. Between the wedding and the reception (moving flowers from the church to the hotel, heaving lifting again) I popped in to the supermarket near the hotel. Yup, there was the politico (I'll spare you her name) doing a bit of canvassing for ... someone ... I honestly don't know if it was for local or European. The advantage of her knowing me, and knowing I'm in a different constituency means I got spared. She made it back without too many of the guests noticing. Still, two hours of hanging around is a bit long.
The weather was great, no one was in the bar, all on the grounds. Puffing away.
You know, the smoking ban is interesting. I've never seen so many ornamental urns on formal grounds marked with "cigarette ends" before.
Still it fared better than the wedding in your part of the world. Dropped dead at the stag sounds like a joke, but it's not quite true. I also assume the wedding is off. Still the details appear to be incorrect. He left the stag early, but never made it back to the hotel. He was found at the side of the road the next morning (or really early in the morning, the details are a few hundred miles that-a-way so...
Anyway, what was the father of the bride doing at the stag. I mean, the state of most grooms at their stag is something you don't want the 'parents that are going to be doing the judging' seeing.
Arrived up late last night and managed to get nothing done.
But still have more to do. (Who's slogan is that)
I stupidly agreed to do a cycle. Cork - Galway.
It's about 200 miles, and I hope most of it is downhill.
Which reminds me, I've still got to get the details.
take care,
Will
I mean, a wedding at home is bad enough, but wading with the flowers is another matter. Of course, its a handy wedding present if you have the skill and the time. But Mum hasn't the height to lift her creations on to the church windows and the alter pieces.
And the roses! I know why brides love them, but they are a bugger to deal with. Touch them (ok, fondle is a bit closer) and they start fading (at least the 'tight' tea roses do, cabbage roses just fall apart after a few days without any help).
It's no the lifting or the late nights with the button holes and bouquets that has me. No, it's the stress of that she generates in her wake. Combine that with wedding nerves, it's sort of like near breakdown by proxy.
Never again. (How many times have I heard that one).
And it was a political wedding. Not joking. Between the wedding and the reception (moving flowers from the church to the hotel, heaving lifting again) I popped in to the supermarket near the hotel. Yup, there was the politico (I'll spare you her name) doing a bit of canvassing for ... someone ... I honestly don't know if it was for local or European. The advantage of her knowing me, and knowing I'm in a different constituency means I got spared. She made it back without too many of the guests noticing. Still, two hours of hanging around is a bit long.
The weather was great, no one was in the bar, all on the grounds. Puffing away.
You know, the smoking ban is interesting. I've never seen so many ornamental urns on formal grounds marked with "cigarette ends" before.
Still it fared better than the wedding in your part of the world. Dropped dead at the stag sounds like a joke, but it's not quite true. I also assume the wedding is off. Still the details appear to be incorrect. He left the stag early, but never made it back to the hotel. He was found at the side of the road the next morning (or really early in the morning, the details are a few hundred miles that-a-way so...
Anyway, what was the father of the bride doing at the stag. I mean, the state of most grooms at their stag is something you don't want the 'parents that are going to be doing the judging' seeing.
Arrived up late last night and managed to get nothing done.
But still have more to do. (Who's slogan is that)
I stupidly agreed to do a cycle. Cork - Galway.
It's about 200 miles, and I hope most of it is downhill.
Which reminds me, I've still got to get the details.
take care,
Will
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