This is entirely fiction. Completely. Utterly. Except for any true bits
August 2nd. 9.17am. Am disturbed in a moment’s contemplation by First Of Her Name: ‘Are doing the bloody Sudoku in there again? I need you here.’
‘Coming Sunlight Of My Joy.’ Hurriedly place said puzzle on windowsill and begin to finish up. No paper. ‘Diamond in my Firmament, could you perhaps facilitate my swift exit by providing me with some paper consumables?’
‘What?’
‘I need a loo roll.’
‘I know you’ve got that Sudoku; the page is missing from the newspaper.’
‘Indeed, that is especially perspicacious of you.’
‘Well, do something useful with it.’
A slow horror dawns. I can either (a) finish the super fiendish and be belaboured about the head for delaying whatever it is that is exercising her, or (b) give up my puzzle for an unbruised cranium. (b) wins.
‘Yes, Oh Crepuscular Wonder?’
‘Wedding favours.’
I am always thrown by these presentations of mere unexplained statements. What, pray, is a wedding favour? Some rosette one pins on the bride? First Of Her Name understands my silence as utter befuddlement. ‘They’re gifts that the guests take with them as reminders of a perfect day. You’re in charge.’
‘Of which aspect, Wondrous Glow? Design? Procurement? Mere financing?’ I am confident it is at best the last element and at worst the last two.’
Something suspiciously like a smile crosses those Awe-full lips. ‘Everything. First Born wants something unique, useful and a reminder of the day.’
10.23am. Google tells me the usual suspects for these favours are artfully designer bags of sweet treats, biscuits iced with the happy couples names or image, and small pots of oils and ointments. While that seems easy enough, when I check on pricing I find the decimal point is further to the right than that Ghoul in a Grey Suit, the Transylvanian Member for the 1950s, Jacob Rees-Tosser*. This needs thought.
7.22pm. In Pub with Male Heir and the Fiancé, discussing rescuing the planet (I misheard at first, thought they said ‘rescuing the plants’ and said I thought frosts in July were unlikely, to which Male Heir responded with a lecture on the impacts of Climate Change. Fiancé adds that First Born ‘is equally passionate’ in her fears of the looming end of the world; I explain I’m more concerned about the end of the week if I haven’t sorted these favours). End evening promising to ‘do my bit’.
9.13pm. A brainwave. Google provides me with a way to answer both days’ conundrums; viz a wedding favour that channels my inner Attenborough. For half the price of bespoke hobnobs, I can obtained recycled (using left over Government white papers) toilet rolls embossed with the images, on alternate sheets, of First Born and Fiancé. Contemplate adding First Of Her Name every fourth sheet but cost considerations prevent that plan. I order 200 rolls. Unique – tick; useful – tick; a reminder of the day – every time the guest visits the little room they will see their smiling faces, tick.
10.44pm. First Of Her Name in bed, rubbing golden goose fat into her eyelids when I appear. Asks ‘what kept you at that thing – viz the laptop – so long?’ Consider confessing to my brilliant plan but decide to leave it. She will be stressed come the Big Day and my cunning plan is sure to amaze her. Fall into pleasant sleep, knowing for once I have done the ‘right’ thing. Imagine guests applauding my wit and my environmental compassion.
*an oblique reference to a Brexit supporting Tory Member of Parliament whose bloodless mien and strident views make him a darling of those who are hard of thinking
TanGental 
I can’t wait for the next episode. If you are alive by then!
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The forecast is of occasional assassinations
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I have memorized all of the terms of endearment in this passage. I’m sure one will come in handy to stave off an incoming barrage of who knows what. Well done as usual. 😀
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Facile compliments occasionally help
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You are so right muse of muses.
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I recollect the last time I was in Winchester, an enterprising market trader was doing a roaring trade in the essential consumable you mentioned, decorated with the image of a certain American politician.
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There would be a lot of candidates methinks
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I’ll bet that Sudoku required numbers 1 and 2
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Ha. Yes perfect
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Wedding favour toilet roll… 😂
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It has to happen in our recycling world
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It may well already be out there…
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I love the description and accompanying footnote describing Jacob Rees-Tosser. I have a nasty feeling the shit is going to hit the fan (or should that be the FOF) in the next episode, however.
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Death is one of the options
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I think my friendly assassin is going to be in demand when first of her name spots the personalized toilet rolls…. I trust you have not let her see the phone number I gave you, you might need to eat it !
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Rice paper toilet rolls? They’ll never catch pn
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I think there could well be a niche for edible , novelty toilet paper 🤭 when I said you need to eat it I meant the phone I gave you for the assassin. I don’t want the first of her name using her on you! 💜
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No, not until after the big day when I’ll be traded in
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Beware 🙋
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Have you seen my SoCs.. nothing personal 🤭
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Cheeky
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Indeed ,😲
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Oh, dear, really? You must have a death wish. Loved the ‘hard of thinking’ description.
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I think survival is indeed in the balance
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Oh … dear! … well, I guess you’re safe until the big day. 🙂
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Im not counting any chickens
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I think you can exploit the eco conscious bunch and say you are avoiding favors because they just add to the waste.
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Killing several tropes with one stone
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You said it.
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This keeps getting better and better!
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The day itself will be the pinnacle of pinnacles
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Ooo…how exciting!
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O.M.G. If news gets out, you may not live until the wedding. But good job on the recycled bit. :0)
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