Re­port­ing For Duty

The People's Friend Special - - NATURE -

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.

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