I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Ironing is a pointless, time-consuming and soul destroying experience. For god’s sake people stop wasting your lives and refuse to wear clothes that need it. Cotton t-shirts and jeans do not need this bloody stupid attention and you’ll all get used to the world without shirts, ties and trousers. It’s the only way forward.
Anyway – suited and booted (a pair of black, suede shoes I bought with Adrian when I was about 16) I walked to Brockley with Michele where Nicola was getting married. Nicola looked great; a lovely, if impractical, dress and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen her wear. I don’t really dig weddings, especially Christian ones, but she looked so happy as she was reading her vows that I was welling up…really. Luckily it wasn’t a Catholic ceremony so it was over pretty quickly and one of the hymns was Jerusalem so I even joined in – aided by a small hip-flask of Famous grouse.
The reception was in New Eltham in a restaurant called the Acropolis. New Eltham is a fair distance from Brockley, but nowhere near as far as the coach journey from the Church took us. The driver took us on the most insane, surreal, route, managing to take in all 10 of the top 10 most congested roads in south east London on the way. It took so long, one of the people at the back of the coach was heard asking if the restaurant was in Birmingham.
Once we got to the restaurant things were great. There were lots of people I haven’t seen for years, endless bottles of wine. I like my meat, but there was so much of it that I had to stop….lamb, pork, sausages, meatballs, bacon…oh my god. Michele and I left early – on the basis that it’s better to leave wanting more than less…and also I have to work today….oh and Humphrey needed tending to…A good day tho’. Here are a couple of dodgy pictures from the day.
