Spotted in Brixton train station

The OCD side of me wants to give it a jolly good iron, natch.

The rest of me is just feeling rather pleased.

All things come to she who waits

I do not usually give good wedding. They seem to provoke bad behaviour (topless posing on Cadillacs, sleeping with the priest, crushing feet under stiletto heels, diving topless into swimming pools, that kind of thing).

But this time I like to think I did my best for the lovely Diana, partner in crime from when we were seventeen.



She waited 20 years for this, and so I therefore:

Wore high heels and edgy folded grey silk frock. Tick!

Burst into tears when she walked into the castle drawing room (stopping short of looking like unrequited-obsessive-lesbian-best-friend) Tick!

Did reading of obscure yet accessible poem without breaking down or stuttering. Tick!

Wept lightly at rendition of I dreamed a dream by male voice choir. Tick!

Drank champagne with my mother and refrained from telling her off for wearing fur. Tick!

Piled onto a miniature railway (ONLY for you, Le Duc), into the bridal carriage, and poached Diana away from new husband with new gay best friends, singing show tunes all the way up the valley. TICK!


Arrived at station buffet for reception into mildly nervous arms of DJS in a suit and tie, the only obvious lesbian in the village.

Munched down vegetarian option dinner (macaroni cheese pie with sauce and mashed potatoes).

Talked nicely to farmers from my youth who seem to have taken up skiing in Gstaad on the strength of their EU subsidies.

Marvelled at mother's skill at sniffing out homosexual men to dance with (relentlessly).

Sympathised with father's sudden attack of hiccups.

Gave up all pretence at decorum and danced exhaustively with old school friends to man-and-guitar playing Spandau Ballet's Gold (punching air)

Followed it up with Bon Jovi's Living on a Prayer (with actions)

Attempted to get DJS to Join In Nicely.

Assaulted her in the toilets.

Danced the last dance to Bat Out Of Hell by Meatloaf.

Remembered why I left the Lake District.

......

Woke up to DJS calling me a drunken monkey.

Remembered nothing.