I mentioned last week that my usual teddybears were abandoning me to fate for this year's picnic, most citing poverty and one or two slow Joes missing the point entirely and declaring lack of interest upon seeing the lineup. But there were others... who didn't come this year because they had weddings to go to. Weddings. I was fucking disgusted, I don't mind telling you. Weddings! At our age! Because in my head I am 23 and always will be (don't ask me why, 23 was a shite year) and although my mother was married with 3 kids at my age (she was so delighted with me that she just kept at it) I can't imagine why anyone would want to settle down at the tender age of 27ish (well, I am 27, not all of the settlefaces are so blessed with youth).
So I mocked the fuck out of them. Laughed at them for spending ticket-and-beer squids on ganky wear-it-once threads and expensive, cash-filled cards. For sitting down to cutlery, stilted conversation and beef-or-salmon when they could have been feasting on nubile strangers and questionable burgers. For booking into country B&Bs instead of pitching tents in mucky fields and having muffled sex in their chintzy bedrooms instead of behind 3mm of canvas, backlit by curious and catastrophically mashed Nordies. Oh, another year or two and it'll be all your friends that are getting married, they grin, like they know something I don't. It's all ahead of you! I don't fucking think so. My friends have more sense.
I didn't fucking think so, until the call came yesterday. My beautiful friend the Jock and her Ginger Nut are to wed; he proposed to her at banjoed o' clock, with his nana's ring, in a tracksuit, at the Picnic.
That, folks, was the sound of my jaw dropping with awe, utter delight and yes, jealousy. It is one of the most romantic proposals I can imagine, perfect in its sincerity and spontaneity. If music be the food of love... {some clever picnic based pun}
It's hard to be sincere, sentimental and funny.
So I mocked the fuck out of them. Laughed at them for spending ticket-and-beer squids on ganky wear-it-once threads and expensive, cash-filled cards. For sitting down to cutlery, stilted conversation and beef-or-salmon when they could have been feasting on nubile strangers and questionable burgers. For booking into country B&Bs instead of pitching tents in mucky fields and having muffled sex in their chintzy bedrooms instead of behind 3mm of canvas, backlit by curious and catastrophically mashed Nordies. Oh, another year or two and it'll be all your friends that are getting married, they grin, like they know something I don't. It's all ahead of you! I don't fucking think so. My friends have more sense.
I didn't fucking think so, until the call came yesterday. My beautiful friend the Jock and her Ginger Nut are to wed; he proposed to her at banjoed o' clock, with his nana's ring, in a tracksuit, at the Picnic.
That, folks, was the sound of my jaw dropping with awe, utter delight and yes, jealousy. It is one of the most romantic proposals I can imagine, perfect in its sincerity and spontaneity. If music be the food of love... {some clever picnic based pun}
It's hard to be sincere, sentimental and funny.
