I hate to start your Saturday off on a downer, but this will be my last dispatch for a couple of weeks. Today I nervously don my diaphanous, off-white gown and translucent veil, grab my bouquet of de-thorned orange roses and stride off into my future as a married gentleman.
As a result, today I shall be unable to respond adequately to as many of your email/Twitter/website comments about my being a talentless no-mark who should still be writing warm-up material for Bob Carolgees and Spit the Dog. Understandably, it being my wedding day, I have other fish to fry. That's actually the truth… we're having haddock and chips at the reception.
As I pen this, myself and my permanent female companion are on final approach; banking gracefully towards Coupledom International Airport in our gleaming jumbo jet of commitment and unbegrudged foot-rubs. We are also trying to make the last remnants of the budget stretch out to one last pirouetting ballerina to welcome us to the aforementioned reception, which will be taking place at the westbound Heston services between Junctions 2 and 3 of the M4. We chose that particular venue because my imminent wife saw it on the motorway sign and assumed its kitchen would be overseen by Chef Blumenthal (pictured) himself. I genuinely wish I was kidding about that.
I don't want to suggest that we have run out of money. My fiancée's family have been spectacularly generous with their cash, offering to pay for the wedding. Well, I say "cash". Quite a bit of the final amount was made up of HMV tokens, so we shall be serving the starter on CD cases and the main course on old-fashioned 12-inch albums. That way, we don't need to pay for wee net bags of sugared almonds as wedding favours. We can just give people a copy of the latest Jessie J album. As the lady herself said, it ain't about the price tag. Or the b-bling, b-bling.
Talking of price tags, I think we have about £20 left in the kitty. But, as this is all in loose change, we should probably take him to the vet, as he is making too much noise when he walks. Sorry, that was poor. And it lacked truth. I hate cats.
As many of you will be aware, we shall be honeymooning in Italy. This is the country that gave the world pizza pies, lasagne and gelato, so all the effort I have been putting in on the exercise bike to fit into my kilt (with no pants) might have to be restarted on my return. I shall, of course, keep you posted on developments. Ciao!Reuse content