Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding: A Funny Feel-Good Romantic Comedy by Robert Bryndza Page A
Authors: Robert Bryndza
Tags: Humor, Gay, Contemporary Romance, Humour, Satire, England, British, ChickLit, London, Romantic Comedy, Prison, Women's Fiction, Relationships, Comedy, wedding, jail, Diary Format, love sex and marriage, British humour, publishing industry, funny books, laugh out loud, Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, British Humor
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then Security comes.’
‘I wish I had that for when she pops round,’ I said.
‘How about I meet you in the Starbucks opposite in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘I’m due for my lunch…’
He joined me a few minutes later and we had turkey cranberry sandwiches and Gingerbread Lattes amongst the chaos of Christmas Shoppers traipsing in and out laden with bags.
‘They’ve asked me to work on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day,’ he said through a bite of sandwich. ‘It’s triple time, so I said yes… It means I won’t be able to come with you all to Auntie Meryl’s.’
‘Meryl’s?’ I said.
‘Yeah for Christmas,’ he saw my face.
‘Aren’t you going to Auntie Meryl’s?’
‘No. I haven’t been invited,’ I said.
‘Dad is, so is Nan. I just assumed you would be… Well I’m definitely not going now.’
I spent the rest of lunch being nonchalant and saying it was all fine, but it wasn’t. A soon as I said goodbye to Rosencrantz I dived into a shop doorway further down the road, and called Meryl. She wasn’t in and her phone went to voicemail.
‘Watson Funerals! We take care of any body…’ The pun hurt my ears just as much as her voice. I debated leaving a message, but I didn’t want to end up actually being invited for Christmas, I just wanted to make a fuss about why I wasn’t.
Wednesday 8th December 20.37
TO: [email protected]
Meryl is really rubbing it in now. She’s just emailed her Round Robin Christmas Letter. I’ve attached it below.
ATTACHMENT FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected]
Dear Friends, Family, Acquaintances, and Tradespersons,
It barely seems like yesterday that I sat down, pulled up a pouffe and reached for the Basildon Bond to write to you with seasons greetings.
Apologies for me emailing this letter, but with more work on than ever at our Undertakers business, (a mass shoot-out at our local kebab shop has been keeping us very busy) I haven’t had time to organise my stationary. Not that I am too upset; Royal Mail's Wallace and Gromit Christmas Stamps are a classic example of this country's slipping standards. Should Queen Elizabeth The Second really share a stamp with two lumps of modelling clay? What is wrong with a Nativity Scene at Christmas? Moreover, why are we no longer permitted to lick our stamps? They've all gone pre-adhesive; no doubt due to some ridiculous European law for fear that the old ones were too high in calories or that we may cut our tongues. Saying that, it hasn’t fazed Tony - he was never much of a fan of all the licking I made him do!
2010 has been a glorious year - I gave birth to our beloved son. He was very punctual and arrived on time, but thanks to a blunder at our local NHS trust I couldn't have the water birth I so desired. According to the Midwife, someone had stolen the plug for the birthing pool.
It was a long labour - 114 hours — and I am proud to say I survived the whole ordeal on just half a paracetamol. Wilfred Ogilvy Thatcher Watson came into the world at 2.03 in the morning on 14th March weighing 13lb 12oz (ouch)! He is my little angel, a gift I never thought I would get so late in life.
And gosh, he’s a very advanced baby! I’m quite positive he has already learnt to read. He always claps his hands in delight when he sees the Waitrose sign as we drive to do the weekly shop.
Watson Funerals had its best month ever in August, (twenty-three people died contracting Legionnaires disease from a mucky Jacuzzi at the leisure centre) so in September I decided to completely redecorate the house. I’ve had the living room and drawing room remodelled as almost an exact replica of Sandringham House, The Queen’s private residence. We have our own version of The White Drawing Room and The Saloon!
This will be Wilfred's first Christmas, so we’ll be re-connecting with family, spending the festivities with those we really care for; my brother Daniel, mother Ethel,
‘I wish I had that for when she pops round,’ I said.
‘How about I meet you in the Starbucks opposite in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘I’m due for my lunch…’
He joined me a few minutes later and we had turkey cranberry sandwiches and Gingerbread Lattes amongst the chaos of Christmas Shoppers traipsing in and out laden with bags.
‘They’ve asked me to work on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day,’ he said through a bite of sandwich. ‘It’s triple time, so I said yes… It means I won’t be able to come with you all to Auntie Meryl’s.’
‘Meryl’s?’ I said.
‘Yeah for Christmas,’ he saw my face.
‘Aren’t you going to Auntie Meryl’s?’
‘No. I haven’t been invited,’ I said.
‘Dad is, so is Nan. I just assumed you would be… Well I’m definitely not going now.’
I spent the rest of lunch being nonchalant and saying it was all fine, but it wasn’t. A soon as I said goodbye to Rosencrantz I dived into a shop doorway further down the road, and called Meryl. She wasn’t in and her phone went to voicemail.
‘Watson Funerals! We take care of any body…’ The pun hurt my ears just as much as her voice. I debated leaving a message, but I didn’t want to end up actually being invited for Christmas, I just wanted to make a fuss about why I wasn’t.
Wednesday 8th December 20.37
TO: [email protected]
Meryl is really rubbing it in now. She’s just emailed her Round Robin Christmas Letter. I’ve attached it below.
ATTACHMENT FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected]
Dear Friends, Family, Acquaintances, and Tradespersons,
It barely seems like yesterday that I sat down, pulled up a pouffe and reached for the Basildon Bond to write to you with seasons greetings.
Apologies for me emailing this letter, but with more work on than ever at our Undertakers business, (a mass shoot-out at our local kebab shop has been keeping us very busy) I haven’t had time to organise my stationary. Not that I am too upset; Royal Mail's Wallace and Gromit Christmas Stamps are a classic example of this country's slipping standards. Should Queen Elizabeth The Second really share a stamp with two lumps of modelling clay? What is wrong with a Nativity Scene at Christmas? Moreover, why are we no longer permitted to lick our stamps? They've all gone pre-adhesive; no doubt due to some ridiculous European law for fear that the old ones were too high in calories or that we may cut our tongues. Saying that, it hasn’t fazed Tony - he was never much of a fan of all the licking I made him do!
2010 has been a glorious year - I gave birth to our beloved son. He was very punctual and arrived on time, but thanks to a blunder at our local NHS trust I couldn't have the water birth I so desired. According to the Midwife, someone had stolen the plug for the birthing pool.
It was a long labour - 114 hours — and I am proud to say I survived the whole ordeal on just half a paracetamol. Wilfred Ogilvy Thatcher Watson came into the world at 2.03 in the morning on 14th March weighing 13lb 12oz (ouch)! He is my little angel, a gift I never thought I would get so late in life.
And gosh, he’s a very advanced baby! I’m quite positive he has already learnt to read. He always claps his hands in delight when he sees the Waitrose sign as we drive to do the weekly shop.
Watson Funerals had its best month ever in August, (twenty-three people died contracting Legionnaires disease from a mucky Jacuzzi at the leisure centre) so in September I decided to completely redecorate the house. I’ve had the living room and drawing room remodelled as almost an exact replica of Sandringham House, The Queen’s private residence. We have our own version of The White Drawing Room and The Saloon!
This will be Wilfred's first Christmas, so we’ll be re-connecting with family, spending the festivities with those we really care for; my brother Daniel, mother Ethel,
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