Jennys' posted a really good blog about her wedding day. It's well worth a look. I'm sorry to say that mine was somewhat different.

I met my ex-wife at a heavy metal concert. Her boyfriend was one of the bouncers. They called him Cliff. Not because his name was Clifford, it was just because he was really, really big. He used one of those chains you see around car parks to hold his jeans up.

I couldn't resist the challenge. I danced with her. I stole her leather jacket and drank her beer. Then I took her home with me. This was a girl who poured red wine over her Coco Pops in the morning and kept forgetting where she'd left her clothes. What man could resist that?

We set a wedding date as soon as we could. It was on Halloween. A Friday so our first anniversary would be on a Saturday and hopefully I wouldn't be working on a Saturday next year.

She was a bit 'chesty' shall we say and none of the wedding frocks in the shops would fit her so we had to have one hand made. It was all silk and taffetta. Those cane hoops to hold the many layers of her underskirts. That was a bit of a problem at the wedding as if she'd sat on the wedding stool it would have shot up into the air and showed everybody her panties and her stocking tops. She had to waddle backwards and sit down like a chicken sitting on an egg.

I thought we'd just do the wedding and then have a pub lunch. But,oh no, we had to have the full monty. The husband of the barmaid from the pub across the road had a wedding and funeral car hire service so we had a white Rolls Royce to bring her to the church on time. She was about thirty minutes late. The priest and I stood on the steps of the church passing my hipflask back and forth and having a smoke.

I'd planned on a few snacks at home for close friends and family but apparently the entire street had invited themselves. It was shoulder to shoulder in my house. They were sitting on the stairs. People were standing around in my bedroom staring at my books There were about twenty in the bathroom gaping at the bath.

Luckily I'd put my cat in the studio. There was a sign on the door that said "Feral cat inside. Do not open this fecking door unless you want your face ripping off.".......Nobody went into the studio.

Apparently we needed an evening reception too. I'd hired the top floor of the local pub with a DJ and catering. It was only five minutes walk away but walking wasn't good enough. The bloke next door gave us a lift in his in his 2.8 litre, two door Capri. It took her five minutes to get into the passenger seat because of that bloody dress and its hoops.

It was the first time I'd really met my in-laws. You've never seen so many black leather jackets and manly moustaches in your life. They'd brought their own vodka too which I thought was odd considering the booze was free. Turns out they weren't very good on the english speaking side of things so they didn't know. There they sat around a few tables in the corner glaring at everybody.

Since wife had finally got rid of her wedding frock and changed into a proper dress we walked back to my house. They all followed us. The matriarch of their family (and she was older than Gods' dog) sat on the sofa. Wife and I sat in armchairs. The rest of them just stood there staring and drinking vodka. Unspeaking. After about an hour of gaping at each other in silence wife says to matriarch "Well, did everybody come to your house on your wedding night and stay until two in the morning?". Matriarch gets up without a word and leaves with her leather clad followers. I've no idea where they went to. Not much action on the bedroom front that night. I'd just gone through the best part of two bottles of vodka. All I wanted to do was sleep.

The next day I had to go to the pub. If I didn't go then people would think I had a hangover and that wouldn't be a manly thing. I bumped into a few walls on the way but finally made it. Keith, the barman, asked me if I was dead because I looked so rough. I told him I wasn't quite sure.

When I wandered home father-in-law and some of his compatriots had brought a wedding gift. A black four door Mercedes sedan. Wife was skipping around clapping her hands and wondering what sort of pet name she'd give it.

"Is called car" says father-in-law.

I took a look at it. The engine number didn't match the chassis number and the registration plate looked suspiciously as though it had been changed in the last few hours. None of it matched the documents they'd brought. I told father-in-law that while it was a wonderful gift I really couldn't accept it. I already had a car and didn't have room to park two of them.

"Is no problem" he said "Youngest daughter is almost sixteen and will make fine dowry for her wedding." And off they all drove. No doubt firing imaginary kalashnikovs into the air.