The Wedding

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

From the loop tape, that is.

Here in hotel land, people had migrated outside for their daily scone scoffing, and I'd settled into the pages of my book, but then something different happened. There was a wedding arranged and the guests started to arrive. I felt a bit like those Victorians who were seeing elephants for the first time. A new, exotic species gathered around me, 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. Clouds of perfume and aftershave blew about, as the small talk escalated to large and loud. 

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 happy couple.