All of yesterday and again this morning a distinct, background throb was once again detectable in my head. For the second day running, work felt like wading through treacle as my brain failed to respond to any encouragement to wake up from its foggy malaise.
By lunchtime fortunately things started to improve and by the evening my head was clear and I felt happy to take up Stuart’s offer of a night in the pub watching the footie.
The result was depressing, but the entertaining company more than made up for this.
Included in the rag bag party was prospective bridgegroom T, his best mate and prospective best man D (up visiting from London) and T’s mother.
Inevitably the conversation got onto "so you two have known each other since childhood" territory, which combined with the future prospect of wedding speeches led only to one place: D telling us embarrassing tales about T.
Which is fine as it goes, but no sooner had he completed the first tale (involving a holiday to Greece, a Polish girl and a bridge) with the immortal punchline involving a BJ, the party fell silent. Nervous looks were exchanged. A full five seconds later, the penny drops for D. "OMG your Mum’s here!".
Which just goes to show, sometimes embarrassing tales have unlikely victims.
I haven’t laughed so much in a long while.
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