Plastic pedestal in the shape of a naked cherub? No.
01.07.15, 1:10 pm
Pedestals that display flowers in vases atop them are a thing, and we have to acquire two so that the ceremony room doesn’t seem like a sterile airport lounge. Is there anywhere in a 30-mile radius that lets you hire them? No. Do you want to drive to Bedfordshire to collect the ones you did manage to hire? No. Do you want to buy them for a biollionty pounds? Definitely not, because what the hell do you do with them afterwards besides turn them into two crap, expensive bird-tables? Would you like two in the shape of fake plastic Roman columns from eBay? Would you bollocks. Should it be this difficult to solve what sounds like quite a simple problem? Of course it should, because in Wedding Land everything is one monumental ball-breaking nightmare. This has been this week’s wedding crisis.
Happily, I got in touch with the florist and she fixed everything for me with one soothing email. I’ve also managed to find a blue tie for James that a) basically matches the bridesmaids’ dresses and b) doesn’t suck, so we’re doing pretty well. The wedding is now less than three months away and a few nerves are kicking in, which is interesting. I’m not even sure what I’m nervous about, other than the ‘you are committing to being dragged through every season of F1 until one of you dies’ bit.
Our funding decision at work has been delayed until October, because the grant was OK but not amazing. So still no idea if I’ll have a job next year. I don’t have much else to say about that, other than it’s a bit crappy? But you never know, it might all come to the good.
Amanda’s daughter’s wedding this Saturday, made more challenging by the relvelation that Amanda’s son has apparently had to quit the third year of his nursing degree owing to him having not completed any of his assignments and failing to sit any of his exams, despite telling Dad and Amanda that everything was great. Cue much, much drama and angst. To be fair, it does sound quite stressful. They’re now determined to basically blame it all on a possible low-level depression that Tom has and therefore needs to get diagnosed, and I am in no way being scornful of mental health in ANY way because I know how misunderstood, important and stigmatised it is… but it’s all a bit bloody convenient. Tom knobs up again but it’s not his fault, it’s because he has this thing that means he’s predisposed to not be able to finish tasks. I’ll also say this: if this had been ME who’d done all of the shit that Tom’s done over the years, I’d bet everything I own that the response wouldn’t have been, ‘Oh the poor thing, we’ve let them down so much and must try and visit a lot more often’.
But yeah, wedding on Saturday. It’s taking place in a barn in the middle of nowhere, where the only seats are hay bales, and James’s hayfever is HORRIFIC at the moment. I’m just picturing the nightmare snot scene right now. And then on Sunday we’re escaping to Dumfries, where we’ll hopefully spend a week walking along the beach, and climbing the beautiful mountains, and hopefully not spiralling into a murderous rage when James’s mum rejects our latest seating plan compromise. No, you can’t foist your boring brother and his wife onto my innocent uncle and aunt. It’s not my fault that everyone thinks that Gary and Tina are worse than a dose of the clap. Yay holidays!
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