busker

The first gaffe was some months back and totally my goof - the adorable Amie was tying the knot on beautiful Fox Island and I'd been so looking forward to it.

Alas, two months earlier, I'd been given the heave-ho by Asserta.com ("Customer caresses for the gentry") and it was a case of going from seven years running my life by the stopwatch to suddenly the calendar meaning nothing ... I set off in the jalopy only to find I'd missed it by one day.

Number 2 was Sula's in Greece, a date with the pappas I was determined to keep, if only to cry out in ringing tones that I had no intention whatsoever of holding my peace.

Alas, a little how's-yer-father the night before had me next day disputing before the local constabulary an Athenian's plaintiff plea of having been dragged from his Toyota by the Busker mastiffs, up the endless drive and into the house where they thrust the best silver into his hands before proceeding to gnaw at his manhood.

Once again, that daughter of Zeus left me holding my piece. Nice one, Sul'.

Sunday: I shall be there, to see Some Guy Named Paul commit matrimony with some lovely I've yet to commiserate with.

All the gang will be there. I will drink to excess, make advances on the bridesmaids, and proposition Ma-in-Law.

Senator Paul isn't just *some* guy but the scion of a powerful house that owns most of Kansas (wherever that is).

The bride is heiress to a budgerigar-feed fortune.

It will be a tip-top spread with food and grog of the best, top-line musicians serenading and advance-copy X-Box party favors for the guests.

I shall be at my most dashing, silk suit, cashmere cummerbund and Oxford accent to the fore.

I understand that Ms Nathalie Woodward of the  Nashville Woodwards is jetting in on the AirWoodward Lear and may need some succour after her recent division from Mr. Phil "NASCAR" Davis of no fixed abode.

I will be at my most attentive with sympathetic ear and a box of lavender tissues at the ready.