Full-length dresses are definitely in this season.


Oh, hang on, who's that in the mini skirt, doing her best to ignore the bride?

Anyhoo, if you've always wondered what the front line in the fight against crime looks like, now you know. The groom at the wedding we attended on Saturday is a high-ranking policeman, so most of the people above are responsible for keeping our streets free of drug-crazed murdering scum on a daily basis. I think I was the only one there without a background in law enforcement (although I was Head Boy at school, and like to think I ran a tight ship). Even the wedding photographers were Scene of Crime Officers.* It must be reassuring to know that the happiest day of your life is being recorded by cameras which a day earlier were snapping dead bodies at a local murder scene.

Obviously the bride wouldn't pose with me personally, but I managed to get her in the background when she wasn't looking. It was like a police surveillance operation.

The wedding itself was fine. Lisa and I left home in plenty of time, immediately got stuck in a traffic jam, and arrived less than five minutes before it started with Lisa on the verge of a panic attack. The ceremony was held in a wooden outhouse (or 'the wedding gazebo' as they prefer to call it), and the bride made full use of the free CD player by coming on to 'Follow You, Follow Me' by Genesis. The traditional Wedding March clearly doesn't have enough drum solos.

As for the rest of the day, well I managed to stuff myself to the point of physical pain, despite being handed a large helping of what I was told was chili con carne, only to find out the girl had got it wrong and it was cold mushroom salad. But the prize for most embarrassing mistake went to Lisa's friend H, who thought the best man's wife was the bride's mother. That took some explaining.

The evening was spent trying to save the barbecue from the rain, whilst grooving to the funky tunes of the fabulously named Teddy Messiah. God knows where they found him. But he did a good job of keeping the party going, despite being expected to hold a disco in a room the size of a broom cupboard, with a dance floor made from a few sheets of MDF.

By the time we got home through the flooded country lanes of Sussex it was almost my birthday. Having been forced to visit Pizza Express three times in the past year, this time around I insisted on a bit of variety. So we went to Pizza Hut instead, where I proved that a large Cheesy Bites Fondue really is too much for one person, and my mother attempted to fleece them out of 50p by ordering a child's drink with free refills. I'm sure that's illegal.

But I did receive a number of quality gifts, including a cookbook from the International UFO Museum and Research Center in Roswell, New Mexico, which was described by my Big Sis as "the tackiest place I have ever been". And let's not forget, she's been to the Wizard of Oz Museum in Kansas. It's very nice though, and the recipes are out of this world (obviously).

While I'm here, I'd also like to thank everyone who sent me a card, and of course Royal Mail for going on strike and not delivering them until this afternoon.

* Believe it or not, that's not a joke.