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Sunday, November 28, 2010

Lisa and I spent most of yesterday at a lovely traditional wedding in Worthing. But enough about that - look! It's Paige from the X Factor! And I almost killed him!

Paige ViewYou know what it's like. You're driving along the seafront at lunchtime on a Saturday in late November; you've just passed the pier; you see an X Factor contestant crossing the road in front of you; you floor the accelerator...

As it transpired, I changed my mind at the last moment. There are enough stories about the show's black contestants being the victims of racism, without me running one over in my car. And besides, he was in Brighton to perform at Revenge, "The South Coast's Number 1 Gay Club", and I didn't want to be accused of homophobia too. So I let him live. Obviously, if it had been Katie Waissel, it would have been a different story.

Wagner, the X Factor's real talent, sang (and I use that term loosely) a Radiohead song on last night's show, which was slightly spooky (and indeed Creepy) because just moments after clipping Paige with my front bumper, Lisa and I drove past Hove lawns, where Thom Yorke was busy moulding 2,000 people into the shape of King Canute...

The Grand Canute of Yorke
Although from ground level, it looked like the queue for the log flume at Alton Towers. I've never seen so many cold people in ponchos. Obviously, from the sky, you get an entirely different perspective. It looks more like a cow walking up to a lamp post.

Anyhoo, our journey along the south coast might have been entertaining, but it wasn't the reason we left the house. We were actually heading to Worthing to attend the wedding of Taylor Swift and Minty from EastEnders, as conducted by comedienne, Sue Perkins...

Love Story
It was held at the Chatsworth Hotel, which is the kind of traditional, Georgian fronted, Grade II Listed hotel where you'd expect to find Agatha Christie relaxing over a cup of tea in the lobby...

Lobbyist
Or failing that, Lisa drinking a latte.

The wedding itself featured a lot of tears, partly from the bride, but mainly from Lisa who tore a hole in the bottom of her dress with the heel of her uncomfortable shoes, and me, who nearly choked on an olive. I realise it will come as something of a shock that someone as cultured as myself could have made it through thirty-seven years of life without ever trying a stuffed olive, but having grown up on a Basildon council estate, I was lucky to get a Viscount biscuit once a week. I thought a canapé was the stripy fabric over a market stall. So finding myself in a Georgian hotel in Worthing with a plate of free olives, I naturally helped myself. Anyway, I'm not saying I didn't like it, but frankly Gillian McKeith's been through less traumatic bushtucker trials. I came close to fainting at one point. It was possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. And I've eaten Lisa's scrambled eggs.

But that aside, the food was lovely. If you're going to put on half a stone in eight hours, this was the way to do it. The dessert alone must have been a thousand calories. I think I was the only person in the room who finished it. And just when everyone was on the verge of passing out from over-consumption, they brought around the wedding cake, and announced that the chocolate fountain was open. I think the event must have been sponsored by a bariatric surgery company.

On the downside, when you've eaten half your body weight in gourmet food, you do tend to struggle to make it onto the dance floor. I think I only ventured out of my seat three times all evening. And two of those were to dip doughnuts into molten chocolate.

But on that subject, if you're wondering how you eat from a chocolate fountain when you're wearing an expensive white wedding dress, here's your answer...


She's either protecting her clothes or about to throw up.

2 comments:

Phil's Mum said...

And you still made it home through the snow?

Anonymous said...

Apart from Lisa, I have no idea who any of the people you have mentioned are.

Apart from Wagner, but he's a dead German composer.

Oh, and Sue Perkins.  Who's gay.  Which I always think is a waste.

But enough about me.  Did you ask for a doggy bag?