Get your puffers back out people, the Easter sun with all its daffodils and frolicking lambs has once again made a mockery of us all, and we’re settling in for Third Winter.
The writers chucked me a week of wholesome encounters with many characters, from corporate girly breakfasts getting in a good pre-work hour of Tortured Poetry viva practice with Small Blonde Friend to swapping stories over lunch break sushi with Work Wife As Well.
Mentally preparing provocative takes for the next breakfast (I just still don’t get why Elizabeth Day is famous or why people like her podcast??) and cutting my meals down in preparation for WWAW’s upcoming hen, I caught up with Williamsburg Wonder and Bristol Ball-Boy before heading down to Cheltenham for the climax of the week.
I hit Work Wife Bingo as we gathered to celebrate Northern Powerhouse tying the knot with her charming Viking of a partner. A perfect day of whooping and cheering, of grateful observation of the laid-back cool factor of their impossibly attractive families that green-lit swapping heels for trainers within the first ten minutes of arriving, of yelling at the DJ for taking someone’s ‘request’ of Taylor Swift seriously (I promise it wasn’t me), Northern Powerhouse had an air of radiance that only comes with being totally in love with totally the right person (I imagine…lol).
One of the best parts about going to a wedding as ‘the work friends’ is no one knows who you are, and no one really notices nonsense bullshit you’re pulling, plus, it’s almost expected of you to get embarrassingly shitfaced and bust some seriously questionable moves.
We set ourselves a couple of side missions to complete - Work Wife to catch the eyes of as many loose acquaintances as possible and get a limp ‘hey…you…how you been?’, Work Wife Too to not get with anyone at the wedding, myself to accost the unwitting spin class instructor & tell him I know when his birthday is and score us some free venue merch (tick..aaand tick).
While I didn’t quite get shitfaced, I instead decided to throw my half-hearted diet out the window, greasily realising I’d managed to scoff a pizza, a burger, and chicken & chips before the day was over. Bonus points granted all round, however, as we spent hours on the dance floor creating new moves inspired by Work Wife’s tiny wee baby penguin, and ended up creating a bit of a stir as other people began inquisitively adopting the moves. Poor girl will be mortified when she gets older and learns of this…I can’t fucking wait.
Anyway, that’s wedding one of four down and the rest of you have all got some serious competition. The bar’s been set. If I don’t come away with a free T shirt and spin-class shoutouts for life, did I even have a good time at your wedding?