What originated as a tabloid to stave off boredom for a formerly ocean-bound affiliate, has become a literary insight into my mundane existence for strangers to point and laugh at. Not that I mind much - after all, a stranger is just a friend you haven't met... or learnt to tolerate.
So yesterday saw the long awaited France-Whitehead shotgun wedding. The only thing faster than a cheetah on land is Clare France in full blown organizational mode. And maybe cars.
The venue was Carden Park - an excellent choice and a destination whose exclusivity was emphasised by my satnav's inability to locate it.
The expansive grounds looked picturesque, covered as they were by a healthy smattering of snow and frost. Once inside the hotels interior were no less impressive - with festive decorations and a bar that served doubles as standard, a magical atmosphere was soon created.
The official line states that, "It was a wonderful day and everyone was overjoyed for the happy couple". The only variation between 'the truth' and 'the official line' is the exclusion of the fifteen minutes where everyone secretly hated Clare for having a December wedding.
Yes, the photos. On the coldest day in living memory - clocking in at a monkey brassing minus eleven degrees - the photographer chose to take everyone outside to give the bride and gloom something that would help them remember the occasion, hypothermia.
Despite the cold it's needless to say there were smiles all around (mainly when the non-family members were told that they could go back inside). I just kept thinking back to the time my mother told me that my silly faces would stick if the wind ever changed - she forgot to mention that the same thing could happen if you went out in the freezing cold.
Paula Best - all the way from Spain just for the wedding - said that she was worried about how the homeless would cope with such bad weather, bless her. I told her not to worry, as by now they were probably all already dead - frozen in their little boxes like a dirty microwave dinner.
Of course the most important part of any wedding is the admin bit. If I had to go through the whole ceremony thing every time I wanted something signed at work I'd never get anything done... but I digress.
I wasn't sure what to expect from the dress being honest - standard practice is to say, "You look lovely", before asking, "So how many toilet rolls do you have under there?". But wow, she looked good. If I had been the groom, I'd have started worrying about how far out of my league I was batting.
Seriously though, she looked beautiful.
Obviously you can't talk about people looking stunning without mentioning the mother & sister of the bride, both of whom looked exquisite whilst managing not to draw too much attention away from little-miss 'it's my big day' - which was of course generous of them.
Anyway, after the ceremony came the speeches, and Dave made a joke alluding to his tiny hands - a running joke back at the office. When he reached the point, "At work they make fun of my tiny...", I was desperate to shout out "penis", but there were a lot of kids there and I didn't think that Dave would appreciate them making fun of his tiny penis (especially with a policeman amongst the guests).
By the evening I was well on the road to merriment, a fact illustrated by some extraordinarily dodgy dancing.
The better prepared had changed out of one pretty dress into another pretty dress, whilst I just took off my tie and rolled up my sleeves ready for action.
If I'm honest, I'm not much of a dancer, but I do know how to drink. If you were to draw a venn diagram - one side containing drinking, the other dancing - then the bit in the centre where both circles intersect would be me.
Ah well, that's the end of another blog, maybe I'll do another one as a Christmas special - otherwise I'm going to have to attend a wedding a week so that I've got something to write about.
G'nite, Godbless & Merry Christmas.
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