That wedding
Grandad April 29th, 2011
I am sick and tired of hearing about that fucking wedding.
Herself has been wittering on about it all week, and I am being driven demented.
I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but she just accused me of being unromantic.
She rabbited on about them being a lovely couple and that they were madly in love and that I should be happy for them on the biggest day of their lives.
I pointed out that they were only getting married because she was up the stick and her father happened to be the proud owner of a large shotgun, and was known to be a complete lunatic.
I told her all about the groom – that he was a waste of oxygen and had never done a day’s work in his life and that the only time he ever used his brain was to calculate how to sponge more allowances off the state.
I told her all about the bride – how she was known throughout the land as ‘the bike’ and how she had had more rides than a professional jockey.
In the end we agreed on a compromise.
She agreed not to mention the wedding again, and said we needn’t go.
In return, I moved the portable television down to her shed, so she could watch the other wedding.
The royal one.
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