The Whitsun Weddings

But with less Alan Bennett.

One of those dreadful mornings this morning - woken at 5 (FIVE!) in the... gasp! ..morning by this newfangled sunlight stuff from a dream that I was Chinese and running feverishly through rice fields to escape a band of gunmen and to try and warn my family (presumably also Chinese). This one was immediately preceded by a dream that my friends and I had been front row at a Cat Empire concert (at which I kept buying useless merchandise) being held in a theatre with an odd, sloping floor, so that I was at the performers' feet, and all the less fortunate behind and below me were getting was a splendid view of my arse. The ultimate problem was that the lead vocalists for the Cat Empire were, in fact, Cheech and Chong.
NO MORE BLOODY CAFFEINE BEFORE BED!

Anyway, woke up absolutely bursting for the bathroom only to remember that late last night we had finally located the source of that odd smell - viz, blocked (eww) drainage pipes splendidly overflowing into the garden (eww, eww) and wafting their vapours fragrantly over my washing (eww, EWW)! Decided to risk a surreptitious flush anyway (successful), and tried to creep past the cat, apparently fast asleep on the washing machine, to no avail.
If ever you're a tourist in areas prone to landslides, take Ziggy with you - his MRRRRRRAAAAAAOWWWW can pierce through even the thickest concrete and did, I'm sure, wake most of the neighbourhood when he found I was awake and available for feeding service. Breakfast over, the horrid animal then disappeared to spend the rest of his sleeping hours curled up WITH GINETTE. Harumph.

ANYWAY, the point was that when I awoke I was convinced it was Sunday. There should be a name for the utterly gut-wrenching disappointment that you experience when you discover that it is, in fact, Monday, and therefore you aren't up splendidly early, you are supposed to be leaving in three minutes. Extra points for realising the reason you're supposed to be leaving in three minutes is you're taking your grandmother shoe shopping and the only clothes you've got clean (because of the foul waft in the garden) are the ones you wear when you've got your period that make you look like a
semi-erected wedding marquee and you're going to have to endure the lecture on cholesterol-free margarine again.

Oh, and I went to another wedding. Long but beautiful.
Made me want to be somewhere - anywhere - else.