(no subject)

The marriage is getting booked.
Hotel in Cambridgeshire, a 'do' the next day in Cat's (which is SWMBO's old college) and then we fuck off for two weeks to Northern Italy to gaze at Palladio's villas (my choice) with perhaps a visit to Venice (her choice) thrown in. The families can deal with themselves. I'm no longer even the least concerned about the 'Meet the Fockers' situation.

I had an attack of the wedding yips when this all was presented to me, and I was told that if we are going to do this we've got to book it now. (I'm too young for this, only but a child of 47 this month.) But the madness eventually abated. There appear to be various strategic hurdles placed in front of folk marrying. Cost. Family. Friends. Cultural requirements for the 'do'. Status. Bollocks. We're starting this at the end of the flat refurbishment, and though I've been excused organisational duties (I think her people have been saving for this moment for decades, and they're not impoverished like my lot by any means) I notice a....a certain ruthless efficiency.

I must be more charming than I thought myself if folk like that are going to put up with me.

The other thing about being married is the acknowledgment that life changes and some things just aren't gonna happen now. For example: I know I'm never going to go to a Roman Orgy (or it's rock 'n' roll equivalent) because I haven't been to one yet. There are many experiences I shall now not have. Thankfully I've done the drugs, most of the sex (with the major variations morally acceptable to me), and most of the stupidity; and having done can now put down. But I'm shocked about how respectable I seem to be under it all. A certain loucheness, perhaps, but not actually depraved.

Maybe excess can be boredom too.

I still love smoking weed. I can't seem to lose my love for marijuana above alcohol: even very good wine. I'm seldom happy with more than a single glass of any wine: I can spliff out to my heart's content if there are no other calls on my time. I've been drinking very good wine of late, but I laid my hands on some hash, and as a comparison there's simply no contest as to which I prefer. As an aside, I can't abide being drunk, incapacitated, or incoherent: though I've had my fair share of all three conditions and am properly hypocritical about it. But I can still do intricate tasks (like playing guitar) when stoned, which I find impossible when drunk.

Thought about getting a tattoo on my arse "Property of SWMBO. No Trespassing". Probably not but Madame might like the idea: shall run it by her humorously.

Go well and do good things. Try to be patient with fools...then kick 'em in the shins and run.