Written on 9 March 2019
Mildred
I've been to some stinkers, but I reckon this might take the rosette. The best man turned up after I arrived, wearing jeans! There was no usher, some poor lamb from reception showed me to my seat. Plus, the groom looks like a chuffing blueberry, the priest, celebrant, whatever, wore a suit my boy used to wear to discos 40 years ago. Everyone looks miserable. I suspect our Katy isn't too happy about all this.
Still, I'm the matriarch, I've earned the right to have a moan. I've also earned the right to a drink. I thought these godless affairs were supposed to feature a tipple from beginning to the end? I wish she was getting married in a church. What a drab little room this is. How is she supposed to glow when there are no windows?
The worst one was definitely cousin Pru. Her third husband wanted to watch some damn football match, but the reception at the reception (ha) wasn't good. So the daft tosspot decided to climb the roof and have a fiddle with the aerial. Still, I'm sure she got a good deal on the church for the funeral. A special two for one offer for idiots who break their necks on their wedding day.
What is this drivel? It sounds like an orchestral version of Let it Be. Oh cripes, that's exactly what this is. What's wrong with the original? I'll never understand millennials.
That must be Tim's father. Dapper chap. He absolutely reeks of whiskey, which must mean he has some. Yes, I can see the bulge of the flask in his jacket pocket.
“Mind if I have a wee tipple?”
“Not at all young lady.”
What an outrageous flirt.