Not The Royal Wedding

I couldn’t decide on a George dress from Asda or a charity shop jobbie. There was nothing in the local donation bins, and the Cancer Research shop had closed down. I haven’t seen an Oxfam on the high street since I was a kid. Garden hopping in Alderley Edge for a burst of washing line snatching didn’t even enter my mind, honest. I gave a smackhead a tenner to rob one from Debenhams.

I managed to book the ceremony in the local bingo hall. The cleaners there are a joke. The floor is stickier than the back of the 14 bus. It’s like a cave in there. We’ll have to leave the fire escape open to let some light in.

You can bring your embarrassing uncle if you want, the one who buys his tracksuits from TJ Hughes, & I’ll let our nobhead pop along so he can talk about himself all night. I’ve arranged a special invite for Keith Lemon. He said he was going to arrive by helicopter in a mankini for no fee but I think he might be blagging me. I tried to book Borat and Keith Chegwin but no success.

Don’t forget to invite your old man too so he can throw some wild robotic shapes on the dance floor. We’ll spike his lagers with vodkas and pro plus. There’s nothing funnier than watching somebody else’s dad dance.

We have malt loaf, sponge puddings we boil in a tin, or swiss roll for the wedding cake. I considered making my own with flapjack and whipped cream so I could bung in a handful of green hash to make everyone happy, but in that dark bingo hall they would probably go paranoid and start seeing bats.

I bought a ring from a traveller in the pub but it melted in my pocket when I sat against the radiator. The smackhead said he will sort me a smash n grab jobbie from Warren James the jeweller’s window. If all else fails, it’ll have to be a St George’s medallion from Argos for £38.99. Don’t worry I can get my cash back on the 28 day money back guarantee.

I’m shaving my muzzy especially for when the priest says you may now kiss the bride. I might even go for a fondle and quick dry hump. How far are we allowed to go? I mean, it’s not church is it? There’s a thought – will it even be a priest? We’ll have to get Dogshit Barry to do it.

Our souvenirs should include toasters, alarm clocks, and gift vouchers for Cash Converters. Our stag do is in the Dog n Duck pub. We’re going on the bus.