Well, I think that's what it's called. Or possibly growing older disgracefully. But it was fun!
Not only was I still full of birthday cake from yesterday, my seventy one-th completed year on this particular planet, but I was called out (all right, invited a week ago) to be the camera guy today, to record for future incredulous generations a fun lunch of the SYP Country Women. Each year they do something sufficiently outrageous to be banned from respectable pubs, so this year's theatrical "happening" was to be - goodness knows why - a mock wedding. The celebrant, a friend of one of the group, made the trip specially from Adelaide. She is the real thing, so I guess that means they are now married. Oops.
The "groom" was the smallest lady and the "bride" was a large fella, none other than my ex-fireman friend Don. Has to be said he looked stunning in bridal costume. The fake groom also was natty in top hat, tux and bow tie, striped strides. The whole exercise was a beaut excuse for wedding cake - the real thing, two tiered - plus general hilarity and cheeky speeches, even singing.
Oh, did I mention? Most of the crazy bunch are the same individuals who make up our regular song group. When I joined them last year I did NOT know what I was getting into.
Now I need to go to bed to sleep off some of the overeating of the past 48 hours. I know things are getting out of hand when I can no longer see my toes ... or the bathroom scales. What? Me tubby?