:: Pot Nuptials ::

An action-packed weekend indeed. Since Little Timmy and his Russian girlfriend were due to be getting married this weekend, I was expecting a degree of drunken activity. However, I'd not geared myself up for the 3-day binge which started with the "official stag night" on Thursday. Things started amicably enough with a few pints in the Chandos, an old favourite and one of the very cheapest pubs in central London (still £1.64 for a pint of bitter). Then Blondie, LT's flatmate arrived, drunk, loud and getting a little hot under the collar. What had been a jovial gathering - perhaps a little restrained for a stag do - transmogrified into a debate on the war in Iraq and (shudder) Israel. As a regular reader of Bitter Lemons and with friends on both sides of the Wailing Wall, I hope to be at least reasonably informed on matters regarding Israeli/Palestinian politics. But sadly there was no pacifying our fair-haired friend and the onset of champagne seemed only to raise his voice a further few decibels above the pub hubub. Only a freak incident could save us from crushing embarrassment as nearby drinkers began to stare. It came in the form of a toast. As once again we rallied round the groom-to-be, Blondie's glass shattered, emptying a pint of Guinness on his crotch. The staff of the Chandos seemed relieved that despite the mess to clear up, the diatribe had been abruptly terminated. He was just lucky that one of the party had a spare pair of trousers to lend him... The rest of the evening continued in a more conventional stag-night vein: more beers, kebabs and other assorted fast food, being harangued in Soho Square by a gang of gayboys (I'd left by that point). Apparently Little Timmy tried to "convert" one of the assembled Pink Throng whilst asking for suitable Soho destinations for blokes out on pre-nuptial celebrations...

So, on to Friday, when a sedate barbecue was organised to herald the arrival of LT's family. His fiancée, let's call her Pikovaya Dama for opera's sake, is something of a culinary wiz. However, not used to the concept of a barbecue, and its associations with manliness, PD confided in me on several occasions that this enterprise was doomed to failure on the following precepts: Men Can't Cook and The Meat Won't Be Cooked Thorough Without Proper Flames. As one of only 2 Russian speakers there, I was relied upon to offer reassurance that in spite of all mitigating factors, we would not all be suffering from food poisoning in the morning. It was a roaring success in fact and I was highly amused by th antics of LT and his younger brother who kept disappearing so as not to been seen smoking in front of Mum and Dad...
...which brings me to a little diversion: I'm not sure whether these pictures are real, but they appear to show a heavily pregnant Catherine Zeta Jones-Douglas puffing away in the nude.

I arrived promptly at Bow Registry Office the following day. Wilverine was also there, but there was no sign of the bride and groom or the family. As it got closer to 1 o'clock, the warden told us that everyone should have been there by 12.30. We were a little intrigued about the set up. The "Marriage Waiting Room" reminded me of nothing more than the dentists, but a quick peek past the warden made us giggle. Smelling the noxious monosodium glutamate fumes, Wilverine peeked past the warden's chair to see a large room, formally laid out with rows of chairs and a table at one end. It looked like a slightly dingy conference suite in a two-star hotel. Perhaps this was to be the (rather disappointing) venue for our friend's marriage. An opened Pot Noodle stood enticingly on the table we'd presumed was an altar and bemusement followed the giggles.

This wasn't where the service was to take place at all. At 12.55 the reast of the wedding party steamed in, protesting about the lack of parking spaces on Bow Road. We were quickly led upstairs to a comparatively palatial suite and the service, although short, was carried out in a touching and sensitive way. There's no more to relate about the day save that a good time was had by all (even on the ludicrous Docklands River Ferry).

And the rest of my Bank Holiday Weekend was dull and family-orientated, so I shan't bore you with the details. Instead I shall treat to to a feast of links:

Announcements: Savour the pop-split of the decade (ok, of the week), with this tearful announcement. God - makes you want to puke up all those Easter Eggs you gorged on... And a new gaming announcement from Dubya:

Feedback: It has been brought to my attention that whilst pikeys may exist the whole world over, they may go under different names elsewhere. In lovely Newcastle, for example, where charver is the preferred term. This site will tell you all about them.

And Finally: (if you're still awake) this lovely site, will tell you where to buy clothing and accessories for your cat. Unfortunately, you may need to read Japanese to get the full effect: