The Wedding

Well, the weather's finally changed for the better and records are being 'smashed' left, right and centre. If only they would change the record metaphorically too, what a relief that would be.

From the loop tape, that is.

Here in hotel land, people were migrating outside for their daily scone scoffing, and I'd settled into the pages of my book - but something different was about to happen. There was a wedding arranged and the guests started to arrive; a new, exotic species with all the flummery of a pantomime multiplied by a circus, to the power of 6. Curvaceous ladies with sprayed-on silk dresses and pneumatically enhanced buttocks wobbled by on five inch stiletto heals - a feat of survival not made any easier by the coarse gravel of the tea garden. Broad shouldered youths with supermarket suits and fresh borstal haircuts vied for attention, while clouds of perfume and aftershave blew about, as the small talk escalated to large and loud (very).

In the middle of this riotous scene, a man with a walking stick and a woman with a small posy of wilting buttercups made their inconspicuous way through to the main entrance, disappearing within.

The unseen happy couple.

Ooops!