...I've been up to over my weekend for a while.
I'd been invited to a wedding back at The Edge Of The World. I bumped into the bride-to-be on a night out a few weeks ago, and she asked me along to the reception. I thought this was just something you say whilst drunk - a bit of an afterthought - so I hadn't treated the invitation that seriously. However, it turned out she meant it. Now, she is a long-term friend of Nooma and Smiley Surf-Shop Gal - and Nooma did her best to try and talk me into going. I hadn't planned on it, as I have to save up money for this coming weekend (I'm going to see Public Enemy in The Ants' Nest, and then I've got a stag do to attend). Nooma pulled out all the stops in persuading me to go. A few factors caused me to buckle. One is that Smiley Surf-Shop Gal is getting married this coming weekend, and I cannot go - so I thought I ought put in an appearance at one wedding, at least. Also, my brother noted that it would be a good opportunity to get a "bunk up" with one of the guests. Plus, looking back on a missed opportunity to have ultramegaturbofun because I'd stayed at home 'saving money' is a decision I would no doubt later regret. So I made the right choice, and upped sticks.
On Friday night, I was dropped off at Surf-Film-Maker Chap's house, where he made me dinner. It was homemade burger on toast with beans...
Surf-Film-Maker Chap: I'm giving you the piece of toast without the mould on.
Lemonsquash: That's what's going to get you that fifth star!
...Then we went to the pub. My heart sank when I realised that the group we were about to join included Nooma's ex. Now, it's been pretty well documented that I can't stand Nooma's ex. What I have touched on less is that he really, really hates me. I learnt from Nooma recently that whilst they were going out, he attempted to forbid her from seeing me – even as a friend. We’ll come back to this. Anyway, it was pretty clear that both of us were doing our best to be civil to one another – but the ice was thin at best. Fortunately, we each managed to keep up the façade, transparent though it was. If things had degenerated, I imagine there would have been a short burst of abuse before I spat beer in his face. But they didn’t.
It was close. One of his initial remarks was that I was sporting more hair nowadays. He has gone bald, and as such had laid himself wide open. I think it was pretty obvious that I’d stumbled in my response, but had deliberately let him off. The conversation was awkward, but thankfully (also) thin on the ground, as Surf-Film-Maker Chap claimed him to talk to, and I instead nattered with an old housemate from The House Of Rock.
Interlude…
Someone: What’s that you're drinking?
Northerner: I call it 'Sacrilege'.
Someone else: What's in it?
Northerner: Red wine and Red Bull.
Everyone: SACRILEGE!
…So I wasn’t having the time of my life. Given the extreme awkwardness, I began to wonder why I’d bothered coming back. But it passed. I was staying with my old housemate, and he told me he had nothing to drink back at his flat, so I stacked them up when last orders came. On returning to his flat, it transpired that what he meant by ‘having nothing to drink’ in fact meant that he had a demijohn containing enough sloe gin to kill a kraken. Consequently, I would spend much of…
Saturday
…feeling like a buffalo had sex with my head.
As I’d been driven to The Edge Of The World by a good chum, I was reliant on transport for the whole weekend. I attempted to hitch-hike from one village to another, but only got so far before I had to walk for several miles up and down hills along a coast road in the rain. I finally got to Blond Curly Physio’s house. She packed up her newborn ginger bundle (Ella), and we went to a pub for lunch. She has taken well to motherhood, I think, despite being weirded out by children. Well, who wouldn’t be? Anyway, we went back to her house after a couple of pints, and baby*, Curly, Curly's dog and I all fell asleep listening to Def Leppard.
TBC…
*Baby partook of no pints.
