Doghouse Tails
Created | Updated Jul 2, 2003
Wedded Bliss - Part One
Where the hell is Claire? She should have been here hours ago. The plane landed at seven.
'Baleesha have you packed everything onto the vans? Bin bags, birch trees, dustpan and brush? Go through the checklist again! Clarissa, help her!'
Don't shrug those shoulders at me this morning Baleesha, please; we haven't got time for a row. We've barely got time for two pedestals, eight window arrangements, six altar arrangements, a font, a twelve foot arch over the church door and a marquee that makes Billy Smarts circus tent look like something out of Lilliput. Where the hell is Claire?
Brrrrrr Brrrrrr...
Brrrrrr Brrrrrr...
Brrrrrr Brrrrrr...
'Will someone please answer the phone?'
I am never doing another wedding. I promise you Lord this is the last one. I don't care how much they plead and beg and say we are the best flower shop in the whole world the universe and the galaxy... this is it. Weddings and the menopause do not mix, amend, nothing and the menopause mixes... well possibly a tiny little gin and tonic... no it's nine o'clock for heavens sake. What is Clarissa doing? Is it an attempt at semaphore or charades? Good heavens - I think it is trying to speak to me.
'What do you want Clarissa?'
'It's Claire.'
'Where?'
'Err... on the phone, she's missed her flight.'
'What do you mean she's missed her flight? She can't have missed her flight. All she had to do was get to the airport, collect her ticket and get on the b****y plane. How difficult is that? You don't need a degree in orienteering to navigate Dublin airport for god's sake! You barely need a map to find your way around the city.'
'Do you want to talk to her?'
'No I don't want to talk to her I want to kill her!'
She'd be as much use to me dead as she is in Ireland and I would feel a whole lot better. We're never going to hack this gig with only two florists. Baleesha is looking like the pre menstrual minstrel show and the balance of staff more like a picked over spare rib starter portion than a skeleton. We have to go.
'Bonjour mes Amies! Never fear Patrick is 'ere! Are the vans ready? Look who I found... the witch's daughter and her boy... He's called Alex. Say hello to Alex everyone. This is Baleesha; she's really bossy so we just ignore her. This is my favourite Saturday girl, 'Tweedle' actually, Clarissa, the evil old witch is horrid to her. This is Amy, she's far to old for you Alex and she's got a man anyway. That's Josephine... bit beautiful is our Josephine... and this is Petunia... it's not her real name but I think she looks just like a petunia. This is Alex or 'the boy' as we call him. Mm Mm isn't he gorgeous? We like him. What's wrong?'
'Claire's missed her flight.'
Don't smile Patrick. If you want to breathe in again and you have any plans for a future don't even consider it as an option.
'Haaaaa! Haaaa! Haaaaa! Oh no... now you're really stuffed! Haaaa! Haaaaa!'
How can anything make a noise like that? He makes a pack of hyena's sound gentile.
'Oh Mum you look dreadful. Do you need any help? Alex and I can help if you like.'
'Yes please into the van now!'
'I didn't mean it, I was only being polite.'
'Haaaaa! Haaaaa!'
'Shut up Patrick! You get into a van too.'
'Bossy bitch!'
Baleesha grasps the magnitude of the impending disaster and puts PMT on hold.
'Do as your mother says Charlie - get into the van now! We need a cleaner upper. Hi Alex, nice to meet you. You go with Patrick and one of the Saturday girls. We'll meet you at the marquee when we've finished the church.'
Clarissa's face lights up; the child will do anything to annoy me. She's not coming in my van.
'Which one of us is going?' She looks hopefully at Baleesha.
'Just draw straws. We need two of you.'
Well that rules out Clarissa she's barely a half, oh no she's got one of the straws. It's going to be a long day.
'You can't go that way Baleesha the road's closed!'
'Well you might have told me and stop b****y shouting!'
'I did b****y tell you, and you're the one who's shouting! Do you have to drive like a maniac?' Look out... Noooooo!'
'Don't worry Baleesha, she always has a granny moment at this junction.'
How does she know which junction we're at? She's buried in the Times.
'We nearly took out that motor cycle and I am nothing like your b****y grandmother!'
'Charlie put that paper down! I can't see a thing out of the wing mirror. Did your mother say you could bring the s*****g paper? We are supposed to be working you know!'
'Will you two stop shouting! I'm the only one who's allowed to shout! I don't even want to be here. I'm the hayfever sufferer stuck in a van full of flora ahah... tishoo!'
'Oh Babes, you're sneezing, is it the flowers?'
'No sh*t Einstein!'
All right, Baleesha, that's enough preening the church looks divine. Even Father Timothy says it's never looked so good in the fifteen years he's been here. Not sure that's the best commendation we've ever had. Father Timothy emits second hand whisky fumes with the enthusiasm of Puff the magic dragon; it must look like a floral kaleidoscope from his end of the tunnel.
'Resort in Florida? Five and five, second letter first word 'I'.'
Why did I think it was a good idea to bring my daughter? She doesn't 'do' work she does student. We are knee deep in foliage, the aisle looks like the aftermath of the Mardi Gras and her idea of helping out is a two hour sabbatical of the fetching bacon sandwiches and cold cups of coffee variety and a 'lets all do the crossword' moral building team game.
Clarissa is no better. Jaw almost on the floor; broom in hand, not actually sweeping anything just looking at the arrangements and sounding like a Glastonbury original circa 1974.
'Oh wow! That's so cool.'
No it isn't 'cool' Clarissa... it's flowers. It's what we do. You are supposed to do clearing up and sweeping. If I had wanted 'wow' and 'cool' I would have held an audition.
'Will someone please clear up!'
'Clarissa clear up.'
Nice one daughter, great leadership skills, she didn't even look up from the paper. I hope she doesn't think I'm paying her to be the in-house entertainment.
'Both of you clear up now!'
Well done Clarissa; almost a trot - at least one of them has a modicum of mobility - no hope of daughter lowering herself to scrabbling on floor level, there isn't a starving baby around to pose with for the photo opportunity. She will make an excellent politician. Her 'looking down your nose' expression is tantamount to a UN veto. It might look a bit messy my girl, but it certainly doesn't smell as badly as your room... or your feet for that matter. I wonder if Father Timothy minds having his pew backs decorated with fetid trainers?
'Come on we're finished here... Lets hit the marquee.'
'Patrick you've been drinking!'
'No I have not! It's tea! Look... Alex and I went to the café for a cup of tea and we found this... see TEA!'
'It's beer.'
'Yeah he-he, but its 'tea' beer... see TEA... we're just having a cup of tea - ha ha!'
I don't believe it! They're drunk. Two hours before the wedding party arrives, eight twelve foot birch trees to erect and bedeck with fairy lights, twenty-four table centres to finish. The whole thing is a logistical nightmare, and they're drunk.
