This is entirely fiction. Completely. Utterly. Except for any true bits
August 5th: 8.47am. Stumble into Centre of Planning, formerly known as the dining room. Have slightly dusty head after wine tasting session with Male Heir and Fiancé to debate the wine options for the Big Day. Realise the truth of old adage that it is better to spit than swallow. First Born and First Of Her Name already in deep discussion over ‘entertainment’. Query if we are having stand-up comic and am told that is to be my role as giver of ‘the speech’. I have been suppressing thinking about this part of the Big Day for a long time. Being reminded of my responsibilities, when coupled with the intestinal residue of a rather bouncy Bulgarian Pinot and the terror I have of public speaking results in volcanically emetic consequences.
10.45am. First Born suggests I might want to help with planning. Exchange looks with First Of Her Name, both of us clearly wondering at First Born’s mental health.
11.00am. After a full and frank discussion (aka a short but intense slanging match) between First Born and First Of Her Name over my suitability as an event planner, First Of Her Name suggests a compromise viz I am charged with organising a good luck message display. Tentatively enquire what this might be. Informed the guests will be encouraged to scribble some bon-mots as guidance for the happy couple’s future together. Any thought of attempting to lighten mood by unwise introduction of levity with suggestion the most likely message will be ‘don’t do it’ avoided when First Of Her Name sends me to make coffee.
1.03pm. Am let down by Google (again). It suggests for said display the following possibilities: a tree and clothes pegs; a framed mirror and Blu-tack; a folding screen and pins; and a washing line and bulldog clips. When I proffer these to First Of Her Name as suggestions she is not encouraging. ‘It needs to be unique, reflecting their personalities and passions.’ Must look blank as she adds, ‘Use your imagination.’
6.17pm. Ask Male Heir for his opinion on what distinguishes First Born and he offers ‘ability to neck copious Chardonnay’. Suggest he is not being helpful.
10.14pm. Fall asleep on sofa to be woken by Spiro Agnew slobbering over face. TV showing rural scenes of grape harvest. Have lightbulb moment and seek out First OF Her Name for opinion.
11.35pm. Feeling light headed. On the one hand am flattered that First Of Her Name describes plan, viz: to use empty wine bottles as ‘message trees’ as ‘a good start’; on the other am horrified by First Of Her Name’s adaptation of idea so it is now to ‘buy a Methuselah of champagne for the pre-preparation party’ and then use the empty bottle as the ‘centre-piece’ at the big event. Wonder out loud if (a) First Of Her Name has the first clue of the cost of said Methuselah; and (b) what is the ‘pre-preparation party?
11.42pm. Make up spare bed.