When a ski season goes wrong

Wedding highlights:

Against Bruno's better judgement, Family Bruno jodelled. Get in.

Being given a piece of communion wafer so big it actually didn't fit in my mouth. Having to stuff it into my mouth with both hands and then chow down like a cow.

My sister avoiding potential choking on a wafer by crossing her arms for a blessing. The Swiss priest having no idea what this signified, resulting in a Communion stare down.

All my freinds fancying Bruno's brothers.

Bruno's brothers fancying my friends.

The cruel hilarity of all these pheremones and no shared language.

My mum's friend telling me it was the best day of her life. And she's had her own wedding.

Having to choose Bruno out of a line up while blindfolded, using only their knees. And getting it right.

Feeling up the legs of a selection of men.

After all the festivities, I'm back at work for two days before flitting off again to recreate the celebratory magic in London.

I have two weeks worth of emails to read, and two weeks of blogs to catch up on.

Which will take priority? Who can say.

What songs would you want to dance to after a few glasses of bubbley at a wedding?

The cheesier the better.

On this blog I whinge about The Swiss quite a lot. However, it's important to note that The Swiss I whinge about are the surburban, middle class Swiss (of which there are many). However, there is a whole other world of Swiss; a world of isolated villages where the men are farmers who make huge wheels of cheese by hand and where the village got its first television twenty years ago (such as one particular village which will not be mentioned here).

This evening found us in just such a village, as we went to meet a chap that was interested in buying our car. As Bruno went off for the test drive, I made my way into the only cafe/bar/restaurant in the town. It was like "Deliverance" but with Swiss standards of hygiene. This was probably the only time a Young Foreign Woman had come into the place on her own. Ever.

Fifteen minutes later Bruno comes from a successful test drive, to find me seated at the Stammtisch*, someone has paid for my coffee, and I have been offered a job by the owner. Various customers pat Bruno on the back, congratulate him on the upcoming wedding, and tell him what a lucky man he is.

I am a Swiss-Redneck Winner!

* These establishments always have a Stammtisch, which is reserved for regulars. It takes more or less a lifetime to become a regular, and you may well have inherited the position from your father or even your grandfather. The Stammtisch is official, with a large pewter ashtray in the middle to mark it out. Sitting at the Stammtisch if you are not a Stammgast is the social equivalent of going through to the back and sitting in their living room.

Because when I'm in the bath reading my book and having a relax, he brings me a gin and tonic without me even asking.

The man just knows.

...drink shots of tequila and go and see the Chippendales before their wedding. I drink cocktails and G&Ts and go to see an all male ballet which turns out to have women in it.

Bride to be: "Oh I'm having such a great time at the all male ballet with women in it! This is the best night I've had in ages! This is just the bees knees! I'm having such a wonderful time, it's almost like that feeling you get when you take codeine!"*

Wonderful friend who organised it all: "That'd be the codeine tablets you took in the restaurant. The ones you downed with Gin."

Btb: "Oh. Yeah. Still good though."

*I'm not a drug addict. They let you take codeine if you've got arthritis. Although they probably wouldn't if they read this.

Last night I dreamt that our wedding was a complete washout. First we were in some awful community hall and it was so boring that the guests all started to drift out to a bar which was upstairs. Eventually I was left sitting in my wedding dress surrounded by empty tables, with only my mother who had loyally stayed to share my humiliation.

Having moved to a restaurant, we then found our booking was screwed up, and instead of a room we were all shoved in the corner of a really busy dining hall with no service and no dessert. People started drifting off again and saying their goodbyes in that slightly embarrassed way that one does when one is leaving early because the party has been a failure.

I'm a bit worried now. If you are a guest at my wedding, please pretend to have a good time. Please. Bring a tambourine or something.