I hope you lot are showing some respect, for we are now in
church, at a wedding ceremony, where Tim Lort is getting married. That’s better. Typical, bog standard, country church, altar,
vicar, congregation, organ. Roof needs
repair and there’s loads of dead people lying about outside. I suppose on a day like this you would hope
everyone was ‘Singing from the same hymn sheet.’ Well; two of us were, Rick Stocks and myself
shared a hymnal and belted out each hymn as we had been learned how to at
school. Rick and I were probably still
thinking that if we didn’t sing at the top of our voices we would be in for a
cold shower later on from the Dean. Well;
in my case it would have been the Dean, Rick would have had a Head of House. Most of the rabble, that’s all the ones in uniform,
were at the back of the church, chapel, place of worship, take your choice.
We were all waiting for the ‘word of command,’ which in a
wedding ceremony is, as you all know, “You may now kiss the bride.” Don’t for one moment think that we were going
to rush forward and snog the face off the new Misses Lort, no, far from it. Once the word of command had been given, the
rear three or four rows would exit the church.
Once outside we formed up, however, for those military tacticians among
you, we formed up in reverse standard military operating procedure. Normally for military manoeuvres you pummel
the target with your heavy artillery and then bring in the close quarters
fighting, rifles, pistols, grenades, even down to bayonets. And by the way, for any entrepreneurs out
there, if you ever come across a church and graveyard for sale snap it up, for it
would make a wonderful setting for paintballing. Gravestones give remarkable cover and with
the haphazard way they are laid out, allow plenty of scope for attack, or
defence, if you have a streak of cowardice running though you.
As I was saying we had opted for reversed standard military operating
procedure. We had the close quarters
fellows at the door of the church and the heavy artillery positioned in a semi-circle
around the main door of the church. As Tim
and his new bride came out of the church, and yes ladies she looked radiant. I would have to say she had a classic
look. The dress was a pure, sharp, white
with a jewel neckline, cap sleeves and fitted bodice which was adorned entirely
with delicate lace. The skirt was made of luxurious satin that draped
beautifully off the body. I’m sorry to
say that Tim was dressed in the uniform of a Royal Naval officer, and from this
you may have created such a romantic idea in your head, but I felt that the
Royal Naval jacket looked and felt more like a donkey jacket.
However, out they came to be welcomed by the arch of crossed
swords held aloft by Tim’s brother officers.
The photographers were having a field day and we waited patiently till
the photographs were out of the way. As they
stepped away from the formality of the photographs we opened fire with the
bazookas. I understand that some of you
may be saying, why on earth would you bring a man-portable, recoilless,
antitank, rocket launcher, weapon to a wedding and if you give me a chance I’ll
explain exactly why to you. These were
very special bazookas, homemade and reusable.
I’m tempted to explain to you in detail how to make one, in case you
have a wedding coming up in the near future and would like to attack the
wedding party as they exit the church.
It would certainly cut down on the amount the reception is going to cost
you.
I say I am willing to tell you, but I would hate this
information to end up in the terrorist handbook or somewhere like that, so I’ll
leave certain key details out. That way it will be seen that I am not promoting
terrorism or carnage at weddings. First of
all you need a length of drain pipe, about three feet long. Standard,
plastic drain pipe, about three to four inches in diameter, and round. I will not say what colour you should get,
see, always thinking secure thoughts. Next
you need a cap that fits over one end, these are normally a good fit but you
need to drill a hole, off centre, so that you can secure the cap, to the pipe,
with a pin. Another hole must be drilled
in the centre of the cap. Now you take a
firework, squib, banger type firework, and roll the fuse into a point and slip that
through the hole in the cap. Attach the
cap to the drain pipe and secure in place with the pin.
Now push a soft white bread roll into the drain pipe and push
it down a good ten or twelve inches. It
has to be a soft, white, bread roll because they’re normally very cheap and
taste like cardboard. Now you can pour
in a box of confetti and secure in place with another bread roll. Place the bazooka on your shoulder and when
you receive the double tap on your head, see we are back to battle field
signals again; you will know that your partner has lit the fuse. Aim at the target. Please, please, please, aim high, because the
last thing a bride wants on her wedding day is a soft, white, bread roll,
travelling at a fair old rate of knots, in the face. As long as you have taken wind speed and
direction into account, the happy couple, and all those within a twenty yard
radius, will now find themselves in a satisfying shower of confetti. The more bazookas you have in your battery
the more better the spectacle will be. If
you’ve ever seen film of a ticker tape parade in New York, then this is the
sort of effect you will end up with. By the way, if you are useless with your hands,
or an air trafficker, you can just Google ‘Confetti cannon’ and buy one from
the interweb.
And don’t forget when choosing your firing positions to try
to find a grave with a nice, flat, cement top.
This way you can lay out your bread rolls and boxes of confetti and bangers
so that a rapid reload can be accomplished.
Everyone thought it was fantastic fun, well; apart from the vicar who
came screaming over towards us. Being
thrown out of a Welsh walled seaside town is bad enough, but being asked to leave
a graveyard is something else I shall not be able to tell the grandchildren about. We held our heads in shame and were leaving;
allowing the vicar to witter on about disrespecting the dead when Rhod
Cunningham started to say that he hadn’t heard any of the dead complain. I promise you the vicar wasn’t impressed, we even
showed him on the boxes that the confetti was biodegradable, just like the residents
of the graveyard, said Rhod, which saw us banned for life from the graveyard
and church.
All we had to do now is get to the hotel in Tenby, which we
were also barred from, for the reception.
Being highly trained military men this would be no problem. It was early afternoon, so we couldn’t stay
in the shadows and creep towards our objective.
We would have to, as they say, hide in the open, use the natural cover,
blend in with our surroundings. I really
do wish that I had one of these new mobile telephones so that I could have recorded
just how stealthy we were. You would have
been so proud. I’ll try to paint you a
picture, in words. Imagine a lovely
remote Welsh country lane, very lush and green.
In front of me are two motor cars, side by side, both going in the same
direction, so you can assume that at least one of them was on the wrong side of
the road. Hanging out of the cars are
people, having a swordfight, with real swords.
I know, ridiculous. I
had a sun roof on my car, so Alex Alexander was standing on the passenger seat
of my car trying to hit the duellists with bread rolls which he was firing from
his bazooka. I have to say he’s a top
shot is old Alex, beside us is Rick Stocks driving his open top sports
car. Rick had a lovely green, with wire
spoke wheels, MG Roadster, from which soft white bread rolls were being launched
towards, not just the fellows with the swords but us as well. As least all the whiskey had gone. And to top it all Rhod Cunningham is up to
his party piece of climbing out the rear window of the car he was travelling
in, mine, crawling across the roof and back in through the other rear window
and all at fifty miles per hour without the use of a safety net. Madness?
Not at all. It was a plan that
worked, for we arrived at the hotel, for the wedding reception, without the local
police noticing us. Although I have to
say the hotel manager did eye us up somewhat suspiciously as we entered his
establishment. As if we were going to
get up to any shenanigans.
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