Written on 20 March 2019
Keith
Let's see what Tim's money has bought, shall we? If I was a betting man, which I flipping used to be, my guess would be salmon for starters, lamb shank for main, Eton Mess for pudding. The salmon will be under smoked, the lamb will be tough and the mess will be 90% cream. If those horderves are anything to go by, Tim has skimped on the food, just like he has on his groomsmen. One no show. One wearing jeans. Meanwhile, I provide the daughter that is far too good for him, and literally everything else at the wedding.
To make things worse, I'm sitting opposite his flipping father, a man I think so little of I can't even remember the flipping plonker's name. This was probably by design; create a scenario where we have to talk. Honestly, when this is done I plan to never speak to the man again.
Besides, he's currently chatting up Katy's friend Kelly, who is at least 35 years younger. He also seems to have his hand on my wife's aunt's knee. Pretty flipping disgusting.
“Ladies and gentlemen. It is my great honour to introduce Mister and Missus Havers.”
Jeans cut through the bustle introducing my daughter under a different flipping name.
But instead of the couple, we have a psychopath stumbling through the doors to the function room, trouserless and bleeding, yelling about “Ushing”, before crashing head first through one of the tables.
Flipping fucking what the flup!?