Reporting For Duty
With a lot going on around me, I made sure to pay close attention . . .
MICKEY BLIGH here, reporting from the home front. Well, my home front, anyway. It’s a sort of battleground, I think, and Gran agrees.
Something interesting happened a few weeks ago. A card appeared on our mantelpiece saying that the pleasure of our company was requested to celebrate the marriage of Audrey and Philip.
I didn’t know that pleasure could actually be requested.
I tried it out on a few people. I requested the pleasure of a new Lego set from Mum, but no chance. Dad also refused me the pleasure of a day at the trampoline centre, so I didn’t think this sort of approach worked.
However, after Dad wound up, as Mum put it, “whining on” about having to wear a monkey suit and waste a good afternoon at a wedding, I saw that it could work. For some people anyway.
She said there was a “three-line whip” for attendance. That sounded terrific. I expected they’d have cowboys with lassos and things, herding us guests into the church. Great. I was really looking forward to it.
Finally, the day arrived. I wasn’t very pleased to be squeezed into my old suit from last Christmas. Mum wasn’t pleased, either, when Gran told her she should have got me something a bit better fitting.
Gran was coming, too, which was good. She looked very smart. She’d put on her best stretchy trousers (because you never know, she told me) and a lovely shiny anorak.
“For goodness’ sake, George, have a word with her,” Mum whispered to Dad, but he didn’t.
Mum and Dad weren’t speaking.
Dad shouted a bit when he saw Mum’s new outfit.
Apparently she’s had it for ages (a lie), it hardly cost anything (a black lie), and she’s entitled to buy herself new things because nobody else does (most likely true).
We set off at last. I was really quite excited.
I was looking forward to a big fry-up after the service. This wedding breakfast business sounded awesome. I hoped Gran had her Rennies with her, because fried food doesn’t half play havoc with her digestion.
The taxi was nice, and the driver said he hoped we’d have a lovely time, until he saw that Dad wasn’t planning on giving him a big tip.
There were no cowboys to greet us. What a disappointment.
We went in and sat on what was called “the bride’s side”.
I wondered if this was a sort of team thing, and looked across at the groom’s side to check out the competition.