6 Years? I put up with that twat for SIX YEARS?!

2008-01-10, 10:03 p.m.
Just a quickie, dear friends, in case you should think that I am ignoring you, or am still drunk from New Years Eve or have vanished up my own backside from running round in circles getting abso-fucking-lutely nowhere.

Im off to Bruges tomorrow lunchtime for a little romantic interlude with BF for our 6th anniversary. We�ll be back on Sunday so its not like a proper holiday but we do get to go on an aeroplane and everything so I guess its as good as its going to get. We could have driven over and gone in the tunnel but BF is a pussy about driving in foreign lands decided against it and, whilst the Eurostar train is quick and easy, it would have cost us an additional �87 ($190) just to get to London from here, before we�d had so much as a whiff of waffles or a sprout of Brussels (didya see what I did there? With the puns? Y�see, Brussels, yeh? That�s in Belgi�.oh never mind) so I managed to get cheap flights from Chigley airport to Brussels and then we shall get the train to Bruges as Belgian trains are not at all like ours. They are cheap and comfortable and frequent and run on time. Our flight lands at 5pm and the Belgians had thoughtfully added a little warning to their travel website for people travelling at such an inconvenient hour.

Caution: There may experience a lack of seats due to the rush of passengers.

*snigger*

Anyways, since I was last hereabouts, some stuff has happened.

Slavey�s Baby Shower was surprisingly fun, although, as you can see, she was totally crap at the �not saying baby� game and had to be clipped with way too many clothes pegs

She got tons of loot, which I guess is the whole idea and everyone brought loads of cakey-type goodnesses, the bulk of which are now in my freezer as just about everyone was on one of those poofy post-christmas diets.

On the Sunday, me and Jooj and Treacle thought it might be �fun� to go to a Wedding Fayre at one of the swanky hotels in ChavVille, as it is less than 5 months to my wedding day and I still don�t have anything to wear or eat or any kind of place for the guests to sit or any invitations or anything.

WEDDING FAYRES ARE SHIT

At every stand, orange-faced crones leap out at you and tell you what you MUST have for your wedding and then freak you out by telling you that if you don�t place an order RIGHT NOW, there�s no way you�ll have anything nice for your big day and then your wedding will be ruined and your husband will go off with his secretary and you will be barren and grow warts all over your bum. I think that what they said anyway, Im sure that was the gist of it. Within the first five minutes, had I listened to their horrifically shrill hard-sell, I would have had myself a magician, a chocolate fountain, a casino, a ruffled chiffon outfit with matching hat for my mum to wear and a master of ceremonies in a red coat. With medals. Oh, and I would have forked out �800 (YES, my transatlantic chums, that really IS $1600) for an unremarkable Rolls Royce of indeterminate vintage, driven by a fat, sweaty pikey in a polyester suit to drive me the full HALF MILE to the church from my house*.

They are fucking shameless bandits, the lot of em.

*When I told my mum about that one, she said �Oh!....Actually, that�s not a bad price for a Rolls Royce���Wha?...You mean you don�t get to KEEP the car?� I think she was joking.

There were a lot of young-ish women there. With their mums. And enormous quantities of cash were exchanging hands. Jooj and Treac, having previously said that they wanted to wear �ordinary� clothes when doing their bridesmaidly duties, were utterly seduced by the long dresses on offer, prompting me to dig them both in the ribs and sneer �Seeee! You�re not so cool now you want to look like princesses, ARE you? What happened to the �wouldn�t be seen dead� stuff? Hmm?�, but I WAS only joking and of course they can have fabulous dresses and tiaras and glittery sandals and look like Van Halen Barbie and The Corpse Bride respectively.

By the time I got home I was utterly despondent and slightly weepy with the sheer vileness that is Wedding Planning, but I am made of sterner stuff and got on the interweb to have one last ditch attempt at finding something to wear. (I know I bought a dress ages ago, but on second thoughts, its not really Special enough and, having only cost �30 I need feel no pangs of guilt about it).

I few clicks, an email or two and I have finally ordered a dress. From a picture on a website. I am clearly mental. But the dress did make me go Oh. My. Fucking. God! And it was less than half the price of the frankly uninspiring rags on offer at the Fayre. The dress has to be made, then shipped to the US, then shipped to St Albans, then couriered to me, which will take til the end of March. That means that when it turns up, if I don�t like it, I am completely fucked. With a capital Getting Married Naked.

Slightly less scary is the news that lovely lovely Tam (of the hand made birthday cards of gorgeousness) is going to make my invitations and the builders are coming back to the Palace of Many Sins on Monday to start finishing the patio so I can order the marquee.

*sigh*

Work is jolly shitty at the mo, with someone having a disciplinary hearing tomorrow. More on that later as I know at least one person from the office sometimes reads here and only a very few people know the full gory details (including me!). It�s a cracking story if and when I get to tell it to you.

Back from Bruges on Sunday night. There�ll be photos.

Later
S
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