Tuesday, 10 December 2013
This will be an occasional series, delivered when inspiration strikes me. As opposed to when Mrs Adventures strikes me. Then I'll mainly shut up.
So, on to today's gem.
Whilst laying in bed, your beautiful wife may tell you that she's going to "look carefully at you while you're asleep."
DO NOT PANIC
She is just going to buy you something nice for Christmas and needs to estimate your size.
If I haven't posted in the next week or so, please alert the authorities.
Worst of all, I've run out of decent whisky.
Work pays me good money to be stressed from time to time so I'll just suck it up. The last of the heavy lifting in the kitchen will be complete tomorrow so that will be a big chunk of my list. On the Christmas present front I'm sure I can rely on the glory that is eBay (purveyors of cheap shite to the gentry) and next year is as good a year as any to start in earnest on my Shit I Am Desperate To Do list.
Once again dear reader, in the space of a few paragraphs I find myself thinking that the glass is pretty well half full.
And if Santa thinks I've been a good boy it'll be half full of decent whisky.
Monday, 25 November 2013
Sunday, 27 October 2013
Me: So how's your week been, fella?
TBW: It's been really good, we went swimming at school and I got to dress up as a Roman when we went to Bosworth Battlefield*.
Me: Well it sounds like you had a pretty ace week then.
TBW: I'm having my best year ever.
Me: Wow! I didn't realise things were as good as that. Why the best year ever?
TBW: Well I'm learning interesting stuff at school and my arch-nemesis doesn't recognise me anymore**.
The Boy Wonder is 7.
I often wondered what TBW would be when he grew up. I'd hoped for something cool and well paid for him but I never figured on him being a superhero.
* - Yes, I know that The Battle of Bosworth was a civil war affair, but I guess they just had an offer on for the Roman outfits that day.
** - After further questioning it turns out that his arch-nemesis is in fact a girl who once stood on him whilst wearing roller skates, so I suspect it's less a case of not recognising him and more a case of not being interested in him. Besides, standing on someone whilst wearing roller skates is a pretty piss poor power for any self respecting super-villain.
Tuesday, 1 October 2013
Time to event: 6 months plus
- Discuss idea with Mrs A and convince her it's a great idea.
- Create training plan
Time to event: 3 months
- Congratulate Mrs A on her continued steady 3-4 times a week runs.
- Accept that original plan has been totally ignored.
- Create new training plan based around new, shorter time to event.
- Congratulate Mrs A on her continued steady 3-4 times a week runs.
- Accept that revised plan has been totally ignored.
- Decide to do one 10 mile run and, if that goes well, stop worrying about not having done any training. At all.
- Congratulate Mrs A on her continued steady 3-4 times a week runs.
- Accept that 10 mile run hasn't happened.
- Think about carb-loading plan
- Find trainers.
- Go out on a works night out for a couple of colleagues who are leaving.
- Get involved in numerous drinking games.
- Roll home at 1:30am in the morning.
- Deal with monstrous hangover.
Monday, 23 September 2013
This weekend I am running again. It’s the Robin Hood half marathon in Nottingham (surprisingly enough) and I am massively ill-prepared.
When I ran the marathon I was very focussed indeed. I had a plan. I stuck to the plan come what may and the resulting statistics were something that I was quite proud of:
- Miles: 480
- Hours: 87
- Calories: 58,000
- Miles: 28
- Hours: 5
- Calories: 3,700
But with all the misplaced confidence of a flamboyantly handlebar-moustachioed World War 1 General I am looking forward to standing on the start line on Sunday. I’m sure it’ll all be fine.
* - a lot.
Saturday, 21 September 2013
- Why just import the leading brand get-pissed-quick alcohol for the holidaymakers when you can get a cheaper version with a name that will make it virtually indistinguishable from the original item and appeal to the Irish.
- On the drive to the airport, on a major route (pretty much the equivalent of a major A road in the UK) there is a tunnel with single carriageway in each direction. The incline through the tunnel is quite steep and on the uphill entrance is a sign with a picture of a horse and cart with a line through it, just in case you were tempted. I presume that the downhill stretch doesn't have this sign on the basis that you can load your horse into the cart and keep up with the flow of traffic.
- Of course four cars driving abreast will fit on a three lane road.
- The maximum number of passengers allowed by law on a moped appears to be a complex equation involving figures ascribed to the bravery of the potential passengers multiplied by the rider's sense of balance/adventure. Livestock appear to be a null value.
- If you fall off the edge of anything, you've only got yourself to blame.
- Dolmus'. They're brilliant for any number of reasons but are even funnier when the English are involved.
Saturday, 14 September 2013
At the risk of sounding deeply effeminate, I have a question for you:
Do you think that shoes can convey emotion?
May I present exhibit A, my favourite pair.
They say 'happy'. And the sand-dusted dishevelledness says 'relaxed'.
Friday, 30 August 2013
Through wind and rain I ran, past most of Leicestershire’s assorted weirdos, yappy dogs and (from time to time) hookers. And I enjoyed it in a perverse kind of way (the running, not the hookers). I even used to throw up from time to time, so I knew I was doing something right.
After the big day I decided to have a few weeks off my feet to let my knees and ankles recover, which turned into months. I tried to get myself started again, but just never quite made it stick. Oh, I know there are a million and one reasons that I could point to for not getting off my arse, but at the end of the day they’re all just excuses. I could have found the time if I’d put my mind to it.
So inspiration finally struck a few months ago when I had the bright idea of entering the Robin Hood half marathon.
It’ll give me the target I need to motivate me, I thought.
So far my training schedule has consisted of creating a spreadsheet detailing run distances and dates, taking account of rest days and tailoring long runs around when The Boy Wonder is with me. It really is rather good and has coloured in bits and everything I have entirely ignored this plan and instead opted for a handful of 3 mile jogs when the weather’s sunny/I can be arsed and a huge amount of sitting on a sofa looking out of the window.
Mrs A, on the other hand, has been steadily knocking off the miles on a weekly basis.
My current plan is to do a 10 miler sometime over the next few days and if I make that in one piece, not to sweat it. What could possibly go wrong?
So at the end of September I will be standing beside a focussed and prepared Mrs A at the start line in Nottingham with my usual ill-prepared cheeriness. Wish me luck, because I suspect I’ll need it.
Oh, and if you fancy adding to the pressure I’m trying to raise a few quid for a phenomenal local hospice called LOROS. They looked after my Dad in his last few days and were quite frankly ace. The link to my Just Giving page is here: https://www.justgiving.com/Robin-hood-half/
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
We got to the tail end of the ridge (it's the one in the picture) about an hour later as the weather turned really bad. High winds and snow had come in quickly and the cloudbase had dropped below our altitude, making navigation very difficult. Once this had happened I came to realise that the distinction between 'old fart' and 'experienced' is a fine, but important, line and after a couple of minute's huddled conversation behind a rock we made the decision to use the emergency route.
Unfortunately the wind, snow, low temperatures and poor visibility, combined with our tiredness, lack of GPS and map-reading ineptitude led us to miscalculate our position. We thought that we were at the head of our emergency route down and not, as was about to become frighteningly obvious, the head of a steep gulley.
I was leading down, I remember the snow underfoot being extremely slippery and thinking that the ground was a lot steeper than I was expecting it to be. I had my doubts that we were in the right place and I turned to tell my mate that I thought we'd got it wrong and should go back up to flatter ground to recheck. As I turned my feet went from under me and faster than I could blink I was sliding down the gulley, speed increasing rapidly as gravity did its thing. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as thoughts flashed through my mind. I thought of the shiney new ice axe that was sitting in my garage at home and how useful it would would have been at that point. I thought about buying crampons. I thought about how GPS units didn't seem so expensive now.
Then, with the thought of the airy ridge we'd just crossed fresh in my mind, I thought about how it might feel to suddenly find myself being spat from the edge of a rockface and to be in freefall. It's fair to say this concentrated my mind fairly well on the problem in hand*.
I started jamming heels and elbows hard into the snow in an effort to slow down. I hit a rock and that slowed me enough that I could stop myself. Breathing and harsh ragged gasps I shuffled myself slowly and carefully towards a clump of grass sticking out of the snow, grabbed it like my life depended upon it and started to gather my thoughts, get myself together.
After a few seconds I heard my buddy calling me from further up the gulley. He'd watched me disappear down the slope at alarming speed and out of sight into the cloud. He'd been calling me for a couple of minutes without response and was turning his thoughts to how he should break it to my girlfriend of the time that I was now no more than a large stain at the bottom of a cliff when I finally responded. To my undying gratitude he climbed down after me, called me a twat, and we then set about climbing down via numerous waterfalls and scrambles to safer ground.
After we'd walked around a mile and a half back to the car, he broke the news about my leg. The rock that I'd hit had taken quite a chunk out of my waterproofs, trousers and leg. There was an impressive amount of blood and, now I was aware of it, an equally impressive amount of pain. My mate told me that if I made a mess of the upholstery in his car he'd give me some more injuries to worry about.
And then we were at the car. Once we were there I started laughing hysterically - I'd been in a few oh-my-god-this-is-it moments before, but this one was different because even after the initial drama was over we were still quite comprehensively in the shit and not really sure how the situation was going to pan out. Keeping it together for the couple of hours getting back to the car seemed to intensify the sense of relief and joy.
Since then I've become an older and wiser dog. I always take not just a map and compass, but also a GPS and spare batteries with me. The axe is no longer shiney (even though it hasn't been used in a few years now) and I have a much better pair of boots.
I still like a squished cheese sandwich and a marsbar though and my walking buddy is still equally cantankerous.
* - Even now, when I think of that moment, my palms get a bit clammy.....
Tuesday, 6 August 2013
Thursday, 25 July 2013
Sometimes, however, things go wrong. Badly wrong.
I was on the home run on this particular occassion, bakery behind me, heading for the freezer section and my boredom ratio was already well into the danger zone when she hove into view. She was a thirtysomething lady who we'd spotted earlier, heading towards us and carrying a fancy handbag. I know it was fancy because Mrs A had commented as such, but I could have probably taken an educated guess as she was carrying it on her arm (rather than it being slung in the trolley with the couscous) in the manner of ladies that are pleased with their handbag. That strange walk with the bag slung in the crook of her arm, wrist up and outwards to the side as though she was carrying an invisible tray. Every time I've seen this walk performed before the person involved wasn't having to control an errant shopping trolley at the same time, which was clearly a tricky skill to master.
I know this because I had a go myself after we'd passed her (sans fancy handbag) and almost ended up putting the shopping trolley into the frozen peas. As I said, boredom levels were dangerously high by this point.
Mrs A gave me a playful dig in the ribs, told me to behave and I chuckled my way to the end of the aisle where I waited as she grabbed some stuff from the freezer.
There was a noticeable determined click-clack of angry high heels along the aisle that we'd just come up and, with hindsight, this was the point at which I should have abandoned the shopping and run.
Mrs Fancy-Handbag had come back. And she was cross.
I stood very still, hoping that her vision might be movement based*, but apparently not. She asked if I made a habit of taking the rise out of people in the supermarket and gave me a really first class telling off. I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances - I apologised.
This just made her madder.
She embarked on quite an impressive rant that culminated with her telling me to grow up and calling me a dick. I half heartedly told her that there was no need to use that kind of language and that was that. She click-clacked angrily away towards the bagels.
Mrs A looked disappointed and the moral of this sorry tale hit me with blinding clarity. A moment of epiphany to rival Saul on the road to Damascus:
Never stop for fishfingers.
* - Well, it worked with the velociraptors in Jurassic Park
Tuesday, 16 July 2013
I have a list of things to record for posterity as long as your arm at the moment. Some funny, some nostalgic, some just plain weird. Content is not my issue.
No. My issue is not being able to find a place to start, finding a flow to the jumble of stuff that's in my head just now. Maybe it's because I've not really blogged so much of late, maybe it's because I've just hit a rich seam of sitting on my arse and not doing stuff.
I'm sure once the dam is breached I'll find my voice again and it'll all find its way merrily into the ether, where it can be duly ignored by the world at large, read only by the beautiful and rich of spirit. Yup, that's you.
So, what should I write first?
- The Dangers Of Acting The Goat In The Supermarket or Fury Has A Fancy Handbag.
- The Quick Way Down or A Salutary Tale Of Knowing Where You Stand.
- Argh! My Eyes! or It's Not Just The UV Rays You Need To Worry About.
I'd appreciate a bump to get me going. Your thoughts, as always, would be most welcome.
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
a) - Short
b) - Afro
Thursday, 30 May 2013
Thursday, 2 May 2013
However, I think things may have turned the corner. Yesterday we (hopefully) agreed a completion date for our new home and today is a gloriously sunny day. Even though at this moment I am sitting at my new desk in the office*, I know that tomorrow Mrs A and I will be heading North for a long weekend seeing friends and generally whooping it up. This makes me very cheerful indeed. I am aware that after today there may be little more sunshine to be seen until next week but to be honest I expect that the we will be mostly observing the weather through the window of coffee shops/galleries/cafes/restaurants or pubs.
I may even take a photograph or two.
* - It's a fancy corner desk by the windows, some have said the best seat in office. Guess who was drafted in to do some work when the bigwigs decided to rejig the seating plan on our floor.
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
In a Zen-like exchange, never ceasing from the keyboard tippety-tapping that comprises her job, she delivered a beautiful, succinct credo. Something that a chap can rely on in dark hours. A rock to anchor the psyche to.
"Cheer the fuck up."
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Shirl, for that was his name, was a huge character. Not in a hugely gregarious, in-your-face kind of way, but he collected people as he wound his way through life. He seemed to have a very easy way with almost everyone he met and people in the main couldn't help but like him. Not least of all, me.
The circumstances that we were introduced to each other were far from perfect, he and The Mum got together at the cost of my Dad and I held him responsible for quite a while. At on point The Mum was genuinely of the opinion that I was going to shoot him (the fact that I didn't own any kind of firearm or even have the first clue where to get one didn't seem to get in the way of the theory).
But the thing was, he and The Mum loved each other hugely and I took the view that it wasn't for me to stand in judgement or shout the odds - and this point of view, looking back, was facilitated mainly by my Dad's almost superhuman efforts to never bad-mouth anyone.
Years went by and he became part of us as a family. He was funny, warm, kind and just great friend. When my relationship of many years broke down he said things to me that meant the world. I will miss his advice and his company.
That's him, on the right. With the fancy shorts.
Cheerio Shirl, it was an honour to know you.
Monday, 4 March 2013
He was with us last weekend and there was a pretty good exchange of life lessons.
For my part, I educated him in the value of never making a bet that you can't be sure of winning. I had to drop him off for one of his many social engagements on Saturday and on the way we stopped off to buy some blinds for a couple of the bedrooms. He was convinced that they wouldn't fit in the boot of the car. I was pretty sure they would* but he was like a dog with a bone with the idea as we ambled back across the busy Saturday-afternoon-shopping-centre-carpark.
"OK" I said, in my best Wiley Old Fox tones, "if you're so sure I'll make a bet with you. If they won't fit in the boot I will do the Gangnam Style dance in the carpark. If they do, you have to do it."
He considered for a moment, but the prospect of his dad making an arse of himself in the middle of the Saturday Shopping Experience was too much for him to let go. He stuck out his hand and we shook.
After a few moments of panicked jiggling and some judiciously applied force, the boot lid shut and I grinned at him.
Yes I made him do it. I now know that the dance is even funnier when performed by a seven-year old with an expression on his face that just says 'one day I will pick your care home'.
It wasn't all one way on the learning front though. I now know that it is possible to burp your way through the entire alphabet. Apparently Q is the most difficult letter.
I am a proud father indeed.
* - OK, OK, it hadn't even crossed my mind that they might not actually fit in the car until they were bought, paid for and TBW raised the notion as we walked back to the car.
Friday, 22 February 2013
- She loves it
- It’s unutterable shite.
Wednesday, 20 February 2013
but, as these things go, the Taoists were right as always. There was yin and yang all over the shop.
I had to drive to Slough, which is a bit much to ask of anyone to be perfectly honest, but my company provided a car for me to hurtle down the motorway in.
Some time ago I realised that I had two choices when getting cars provided for going out on business (I'm not enough of a bigshot to warrant a company car of my own). The route chosen by most of my colleagues (and indeed pushed quite heavily by the company) is that a hire car courtesy of Alamo is provided. This is invariably an Astra, or if you're lucky, an Insignia.
But there is another way.
If you're nice to the secretaries, if they take a shine to you, you can get access to the poolcars. These are cars that have been provided to erstwhile employees of the company who have now left. As a result of a fairly relaxed company car policy, it's quite a 'roll the dice' kind of strategy. there is a risk of getting a clapped out Golf estate that smelled like it had been driven for three years by a chainsmoking salesrep with poor personal hygiene (Manchester, November), but you just may get a shiny Jaguar in a jaunty colour (not managed that yet, but I live in hope). Today's car made my heart sink when I got the news. A Skoda.
The thing was huge. I grew to like it a lot as I hurtled down the M1. It had cruise control, a stereo that made my shirt sleeves vibrate in a most amusing way and a lovely sense of being at the bridge of a road-going container ship. But best of all was its Assisted Parking system. Basically you just have to get the thing alongside a space, press the button, stick it in reverse and let it do its thing.
Due to my absolute confidence in technology and the sure and certain knowledge that it wasn't my car, I used it to park with a speed and decisiveness that quite surprised a pedestrian and her small dog. As I whizzed backwards into the space at an alarming pace I sat and watched, transfixed, as the steering wheel span wildly, sensors chirped and The Barge parked itself.
The meeting was OK, I drove home and got caught up in huge traffic jam which was a bit tedious, but I amused myself by playing I-spy with myself. I won a couple of rounds too, so I didn't feel my time was entirely wasted.
Last stop before getting home was a quick run through Sainsbury's to pick up some bread. It was made considerably better by listening to The Darkness as I wandered aound the aisles. I'm sure Justin Hawkins would've enjoyed the irony.
So a Yin & Yang kind of a day all round. Some things went my way, some didn't, but given how little I'd expected from today when I got out of bed this morning, I'll take today's score thank you very much.
Tuesday, 12 February 2013
I love a bit of fancy design as much as the next man, I truly do. Even though my engineer’s outlook makes me fundamentally unskilled in producing things of beauty I can honestly be moved by good design. May I draw your attention to several Ducati motorcycles, an Aston Martin or two and most of the classical architecture of Glasgow.
However, much as I can appreciate aesthetic innovation, I worship at the altar of Good Engineering Practice and one of the most fundamental tenets of engineering is standardisation. Standardisation is, in its own way, beautiful too. It’s the reason that your USB stick fits any laptop you may need to use. It’s the reason that when you hop into a new car the brake pedal is just where you expect it to be. It’s the reason that soldiers look like soldiers and not Gok Wan.
Simple, functional beauty.
So why has nobody shared this wonderful principle with the people who design men’s pants?
Please consider Fig. 1. below:
I’m genuinely not worried whether they decide upon system A, B, or C for access to Stephen and the twins when I need a leak, but just pick one ferchrissakes. Great embarrassment can be caused to a fellow standing at the urinals, rummaging about in the trouser department trying to work out whether the access route is Vertical/Vertical (A), Vertical-Horizontal (B) or just hoik the waistband down (C). The situation is exacerbated by the very fact that you need to take a wizz and consequently;
i) you are time-limited
ii) Your concentration is elsewhere.
This would never have happened on Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s watch.
Saturday, 9 February 2013
Today is The Boy Wonder’s seventh birthday.
This year’s had a lot of change for him and he’s coped with it all incredibly well. I am constantly amazed by his capability to remember infinite detail about things that interest him and entirely forget the blindingly obvious if it doesn’t.
This year we have built volcanoes and rockets, we have constructed starships and huge robot warriors. We have fought battles as deadly ninja enemies and concocted secret handshakes known only to ourselves.
With every year that passes the achievements and goals become bigger and more exciting. I watch him grow in all senses with a mixture of pride and excitement and curiosity and trepidation. In that order.
Happy birthday Sunshine. We still have our appointment with mountains, figurative and real.
Monday, 4 February 2013
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
To be honest it was quite tough, there's been too many pies and wine and beer and biscuits for me to be straight back into the level I used to view as 'steady'. A short 2 miler that once served as a warm up and I could feel it. Not in my legs so much as my chest, to be honest I'm not quite sure what to make of this. I pushed myself moderately but not to anything approaching intense levels in either distance or speed (2 miles, 9.5 minute miles), but I guess it's a case of building back up slowly.
And I love the calmness of mind that comes when fitness and exertion balance. My mind is a wonderful/scary/bizarre/hilarious thing at the best of times but when I'm fit enough that legs and lungs just get on with it as the miles pass it tends to amuse itself with all sorts of peculiar stuff. On long runs in the past I have considered an array of stuff from the colour of smurfs to the secret commercial lives of large houses. I love the mental space to sort through a few of my trickier personal issues (yes, there are a few).
So the motivation for running in the dark and blustery rain? There's so many, but of particular interest is my propensity to eat cake and watch the tellybox. That, and I'm thinking I might fancy a half marathon later on this year, but we'll see on that.
In other news my blog is now just over 2 years old now. I really must read through a few old posts at some point, a lot has changed since Post Zero.
Sunday, 20 January 2013
Tuesday, 15 January 2013
Back when I was a lad and it was all fields around here, I was a died-in-the-wool petrolhead. Although most of my weekly adrenaline fix was delivered by lairy motorbikes, I also had a penchant for ‘entertaining’ cars too. My garage ran, at various points, from classic convertibles to battered landrovers to the ubiquitous hot hatches of the 80s & 90s. I even owned a Second World War tank recovery truck for a few hours at one point. They were all hugely impractical, often dangerous (at least in my hands), and immensely fun.
As time moved on and baggy jeans & hightops were replaced by business suits and briefcases, my rides became less fun. MPG became more important than MPH, insurance groups more important than power-to-weight ratios and a succession of cars were bought more for reasons of practicality and economic prudence than entertainment value. The advent of The Boy Wonder meant that Cubic Metres in the load area outranked Cubic Centimetres in the engine. All this culminated in my first (and probably only) company car being a Volvo V70. It shifted small children and large children and boxes of safety boots and me and Mrs A all over the shop in great comfort, but it would never be described as ‘exciting’.
All that changed earlier in the year when I decided to get a job that just needed me to transport myself and a briefcase to the office most days. Encouraged by Mrs A*, back in the spring I bought a car that would have had my teenage self hopping from foot to foot with delight. I bought a 2 seater convertible.
It’s been a hoot through spring, summer and autumn. My 40 mile round trip to the office has been brilliant, careening through the backroads of Leicestershire with the roof down on a warm summer evening is just ace. It even has a ‘Sport’ button on the dashboard, the main function of which appears to be the scaring of shite out of the driver, passenger and oncoming traffic. Lovely.
Yesterday morning however, it snowed.
As I pulled off the drive to go to work and headed down to the main road things were looking bad. Every time I went anywhere near the accelerator, the dashboard would light up like a demented Christmas tree as the car’s various electronic nannies tried to stop it from wheelspinning straight into the nearest lamppost. Once upon a time I'd have thought that such electronic trickery was for wusses, switched it all off and pirouetted my way to work with merry abandon. However, with the benefit of experience and the reaction times of a 42 year old man to work with, I decided to leave everything switched on and approach the accelerator pedal in much the same way as one would approach an unexploded bomb.
Once onto the main roads, things were a lot easier, my journey to work was uneventful and I arrived in one piece at the office carpark, just me and my briefcase. Only my briefcase (complete with laptop) wasn't in the car. Being honest, I was convinced the car would end up in a ditch long before getting to work and I’d been so intent on putting my hiking gear in the boot that I'd forgotten to put my bloody briefcase in too.
There’s a lesson here for us all, kids. The lesson is this:
When you have an inappropriate car, all journeys are entertaining.
* - Although I’m not sure she thought I would actually be daft enough to actually buy the thing.
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
Warning: This post is a mush-fest. You have been warned.
What a day.
Friends and family started appearing, warm words and smiles were in abundant supply, various official people asked me lots of questions, to which I often didn't have a clue what the correct answer would be. So I smiled and said 'yes' a lot, which seemed to make the official people happy and move things along quite nicely.
The Girls both looked beautiful - classically elegant in the case of the eldest and edgy and cool in the case of the youngest who wore navy blue Converse trainers with her bridesmaid's dress. Elder daughter did a reading for us that reduced most of the guests, us and to large extent, herself, to tears, such was the warmth with which it was read. This despite having told me on reading the poem a couple of nights before the wedding "Well I'll read it, but you should know that inside I'll be pulling this face." She pulled a fingers-down-the-throat-sicky-face. I laughed and promised not to tell her mum.
Dinner came and went in a blur of speeches, fondant this and reduction that, wines and coffees.
Then my real Moment Of Truth. The first dance. I did my best and shuffled around as best I could. My beautiful wife made it easy for me although the pirouettes worried me.
And all too soon the day was done.