Hen pecked
I am being turfed out of house and home this weekend by a flock of hens. My marriage looms, and as has become traditional my bride-to-be needs to tie an “L” plate to herself and parade through the streets of town surrounded by shrieking female accomplices dressed in things pink and frilly.
Thankfully I am not involved, although the whole sorry spectacle does mean me having to leave town and take shelter in one of the many empty premises vacated for the weekend by the hens temporarily living at my house.
There are rumours that I have to endure a “stag” do at some point in the near future. The prospect of drinking myself into oblivion and waking up tied to a lamppost is not appealing. I hope that if I am indeed to be the victim of some kind of pre-wedding exercise in extraordinary rendition, it is less riotous than it might be.
I am spending this weekend in London, attending the Farnborough Air Show tomorrow. For an unapologetic geek like me, the idea of spending a day in the company of both an A380 and a Dreamliner is hugely exciting, not to mention all the military jets we’ll no doubt cut the funding for quite soon.
The wedding is now just two short weeks away. Everything is done. All that remains is to answer the millions of people asking me if everything is done. The answer is that yes, everything is done. Everything, that is, apart from me negotiating a substantial discount on the price now that I’ve found that the venue was recently used by Eamonn Holmes.
All this town-fleeing means that I won’t be around to deliver focuses or answer phone calls or emails from residents this weekend. Handing over the keys to my house to two dozen drunken girls also means that I may have to fling myself at the merciful feet of the Council’s Homelessness team come Monday.
I hope everyone has a nice weekend. I am travelling to London on one of those tilting trains that make me feel seasick. I will emerge into the Euston twilight feeling like I’ve just got off the car ferry.
Rick
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