Wedding Breakfast
Wedding Cakes
She pays my wages, she can wear what the fuck she likes
When Pearly Queen Angela said I should buy those 60s brown snakeskin shoes from the vintage stall, I did. I'm all for taking style advice from a woman decked out in buttons.
I can say without fear of contradiction that most of this lot were here for the beer.
Following a few hours of right regal boozing, suspecting the carnage to follow and to avoid witnessing Shoreditch's finest spewing their Pimms into their trilbys, I headed off for some very fine BBQ hospitality chez Bernie and Kieran (usual excellent spread) and some very fine chat. This included discussions of top 5 one-night-stands of choice. Anyone in the world, just for one night. I won't list the choices made. I mused upon the choice of sleeping with an over-60, thinking Bill Nighy and Sir Paul Smith. When Kieran came back out of the house and was asked who he'd do if he had to sleep with an over-60, he swiftly replied, "me Dad". We laughed a really, really lot. And then Nana revealed her wedding knickers, which I think I framed beautifully in shot, using the assorted nibbles to dress the set:
I'm looking for a one-liner involving either dipping or good crack.
