Three Weddings and MY Funeral

The last three weekends have passed in a blur of alcohol and confetti. I've been to three weddings in three countries. England, then Scotland and finally Ireland. The weddings were all very good in themselves, polite affairs, no fighting or cake throwing like a commoners wedding. I even managed to keep my tongue long enough for only a very few people to fall out with me (unfortunately one of the quips was about the best man fucking the groom's sister (which didn't go down to well with the grooms brother (but he led me straight into that one (and I'd have been kicking myself not to take a wonderfull opportunity like that(I'm weak you know(too many parenthesis now)))))).

Anyway I'm well and truly fucked now. Weddings basically consist of three main ingredients: Alcohol, Food and MONEY! This is how it works

• Spend money on a new outfit (I have my own kilt so I just spend money on my girlfriends outfit.
• Spend money on a gift
• Spend lots of money getting there, taxi's, plane tickets, petrol, car parking etc
• spend money staying in a hotel or similar establishment
• Drink lots
• Eat too much until you feel sick
• Drink more until you can't stand up but your the worlds greatest dancer
• Eat more
• Keep drinking until you think your Billy Connoly and your the funniest person alive, taking great pains to let everyone know this
• Eat until your sick
• AH HA! Now you've been sick, there's more room for Drink
• Die of alcohol poisoning
• Wake up and realise how much money you've spent

Now that's a pretty standard British wedding to be honest. But multiply that by three. I'm broke and my liver is fucked. Some may say that's my own fault and I just shouldn't drink, to that person I would remove a figurative hand glove and slap them across the face with it! I enjoyed all three weddings thoroughly but I haven't enjoyed the recovery process too much and also I can't afford to eat for a month.

At the last wedding I went back to my B&B just after midnight. For that I have been continually and mercilessly berated at the hands of those who I usually torture with insults leveled at their drinking ability. Among my friends I'm usually the one begging the barman for another just before closing time or the one who just wants to keep going when all around are floundering. What was wrong with me? I was fucked that was what was wrong, I had wedding fatigue and it was very nearly fatal. Maybe I'm just getting old.