Spent a couple of days this semi-glorious bank holiday weekend down at another wedding, deep in the darkest, coastally close countryside.
A strange place indeed, but much natural beauty at the ceremony itself, although more from the trees and fine lawns that graced the mansion where we were based than from the assembled company. There was a most distinct lack of single women for me to ogle/berate, so I spent my time considering my strange fortune at being in a reconditioned barn which looked out to luscious gardens, taking trips outside for too many cigarettes and seeing what I could do to stay out of trouble.
Duty done, we piled on back to the hotel, on the fringes of a retirement village, somewhere near a Sainsbury’s multiplex. This kind of place is not always convivial to joke, but well aided by alcohol by then, we managed to create our own entertainment, assembling a crew of established jokers in a baracaded room, to partake of the cheroot and swap a few more laughs and stories. Ignore the bangings on the wall, floor and ceiling from those trying to catch some ill-deserved kip. Just turn the volume on the ipod up, shout louder and resist all attempts at entrance from peope wearing security uniforms, allowing people who prefer Hawaiian shirts and heart shaped shades.
