in olden days a fisted arsehole was looked on as unpardonable
I've been up North (well, Chesterfield) this weekend, meeting Kate's extended family at a cousin's wedding. I'm all for the institution of marriage but I do find there's something unavoidably naff about weddings, so you might as well do them completely by-the-book. The reception afterwards was in the bride's parents' very big back garden. We were told that in case of rain, they'd acquired a marquee for the occasion. When we went into the back garden, all we saw was Mark E Smith, singing 'Middle Class Revolt' and biting the head off a squirrel*.
It was a very good evening, rather lavish. Free bar, and after the dinner there was a band of old blokes in garish waistcoats and ceilidh dancing. From a historical perspective it was really interesting to try ceilidh. Back in the day before discos and all that, it was how people met their husbands and wives. After a few gentle introductory dances, by the end it's anything-goes. You find yourself linking arms with a dozen different women in as many twirls and it's the Thomas Hardy version of speed dating. Shockingly decadent. I really felt as if my life, career and prospects were about to be set into an irreversible downward spiral by wanting to shag Julie Christie.
The next morning, on the way to the station we had a brief promenade around Chesterfield. The crooked spire is very striking but not much else is. There were a lot of people going about on motorised wheelchairs.
Most of today was spent hanging around Angel as we wanted to see Persepolis at the Screen on the Green. The first showing was 2.15, but by 2.30 the shutters were down and 30 people queueing. A lady peeped out; the digital projector wasn't connecting to the server, but everyone could have free tickets for the 4.30. We return at the appointed time, and there are sign outside informing us that the 4.30 is cancelled but we could make the 6.30 at the Renoir. On enquiring within, we're told the projector has just been fixed, and ushered in to the theatre. We sit through all the adverts and fifteen minutes of the feature, then the projector breaks again and we're sent on our way. Oh well, nice to know it's not just our gaff where nothing ever works. Of course, nothing like this would ever have happened if Ken was still Mayor, etc etc etc.
*that's not actually true, in fact Kate hit me quite hard when I made the joke.
It was a very good evening, rather lavish. Free bar, and after the dinner there was a band of old blokes in garish waistcoats and ceilidh dancing. From a historical perspective it was really interesting to try ceilidh. Back in the day before discos and all that, it was how people met their husbands and wives. After a few gentle introductory dances, by the end it's anything-goes. You find yourself linking arms with a dozen different women in as many twirls and it's the Thomas Hardy version of speed dating. Shockingly decadent. I really felt as if my life, career and prospects were about to be set into an irreversible downward spiral by wanting to shag Julie Christie.
The next morning, on the way to the station we had a brief promenade around Chesterfield. The crooked spire is very striking but not much else is. There were a lot of people going about on motorised wheelchairs.
Most of today was spent hanging around Angel as we wanted to see Persepolis at the Screen on the Green. The first showing was 2.15, but by 2.30 the shutters were down and 30 people queueing. A lady peeped out; the digital projector wasn't connecting to the server, but everyone could have free tickets for the 4.30. We return at the appointed time, and there are sign outside informing us that the 4.30 is cancelled but we could make the 6.30 at the Renoir. On enquiring within, we're told the projector has just been fixed, and ushered in to the theatre. We sit through all the adverts and fifteen minutes of the feature, then the projector breaks again and we're sent on our way. Oh well, nice to know it's not just our gaff where nothing ever works. Of course, nothing like this would ever have happened if Ken was still Mayor, etc etc etc.
*that's not actually true, in fact Kate hit me quite hard when I made the joke.