Darlings, what fabulous news!

Hoorah!

I am to be wed!

Yes, little ol’ me, Ms. Fabula DiBeaumarchais-Hindley-Crawford-Shipman-Shipman-Terwilliger is once again taking the sacred sacrament of marriage!

Ah, marriage. That wonderful old institution of mortgages, 2.4 children (I honestly do not know where the other .6 of that child went) and cock-dodging. Who is the lucky man, I hear my public cry??

I am unfortunately not at liberty to say, save for the fact that in the country of his birth, my baby is of course allowed more than one wife, and spells his first name with a lower-case ‘e’.

Mind you, when I arrive, those Kuwaiti bitches are going to have to shave their nipples and comb their shins, unless they want to find themselves exiled to Azerbijan to work on oil rigs like the greasy filths they are.

Dum-dee-dum.

Annihoo, with so many celeb marriages nowadays, I’ve decided to trump Hello!, OK!, Heat! And Celebrity Toilet! Magazines, and give an exclusive pre-wedding report to my adoring fans at this website.

Here, then, may I present to you, in all its Pre-Nuptial glory, the inaugural edition of…

…Fabula’s Guide to Weddings.

1. The Frock

Darlings, if you are over the age of thirteen, from Cork, or a sentient human being in any shape, make or form, then you are most likely not a Virgin. Therefore, getting married in white is not an option to you.

Similarly, if you are a fat bitch, white will only serve to make you look something like the underside of a Penguin filled with helium.

Do the sensible thing and stick with something elegant and timeless in a nice rich fabric. And for fuck’s sake don’t wear a veil. Nobody needs to see you looking like  a homosexual tardis on your big day.

2. The Groom

Ladies, if your Groom is a handsome, well-kept- witty, urbane man, then by all means go ahead and marry him. On the other hand, if he’s Irish, he’ll most likely have a big red face and a truckload of cabbage-smelling relations from ‘up da cuntrah’ who will only show you up, so it’s probably best to hire a male escort as a stand-in for the day n question. On the other hand again (if one lives in Gomel), if your groom is indeed a handsome, well-kept- witty, urbane man, then he is most likely a homosexual, in which case it’s not a good idea to marry him. You can’t replace a good poke with a good set of curtains, Dears.

3. The Reception

Ah, that time of the evening, when a sweaty Mong with a Casio 2514 keyboard is belting out ‘The Red Rose Café’ and Auntie Muiridge decides everyone really does need to hear her drunken-sparrow voice loud and in living colour, whining ‘Summertime’ like so many working-class Spastic Spinsters, your Reception is what your wedding will be remembered for. At the recent nuptial bash of a close friend, a man in a powder-blue tux remarked happily to me ‘Jaysis, dere’s a fortune o’ peepill here, indere?’. After that he offered to tarmacadam my driveway so I had him removed and washed. And shot. But anyway, there’s a few simple rules for a successful reception, the most important of which is to NEVER EVER EVER allow the Mother of the Bride to make a speech (thinly-disguised venom at beauty and youth is always offputting during a dessert course, I ought to know, I invented it) and ALWAYS ALWAYS restrict the number of revellers to under a hundred. If you have a truly Oirish weddin’ (i.e. three hundred provincials chowing down to turkey & ham in Rochestown Park, more ugly hats than a Culture Club convention) you will seem showy and base. On the other hand, far fewer than a hundred people will make you seem unpopular and cheap. It’s a mystery (thank you for that, Toyah! Ith A Mithtereeee!!!) but with a little common sense, Darlings, you will be able to decide on the right amount.

And remember, just because Pavie Joe invited you to his wedding and you got to punch the Bride is absolutely no reason for you to feel obligated to return the Invitation.

And that’s it! Ladies, when planning a wedding, do remember to check this guide as a What’s-What in the world of Marriages. Gentlemen, just wash your jewels and try not to belch during the vows.

Until we read again, my wonderful fanbase, I bid you all a very fond…/

Lovings!

Hoorah!

Dum, dum, di-dummm…..

Fabula XXXXXX

PS. Never one to hint, babes, try deciphering this little conundrum: If it makes pearls closed-up, then why would it open during the last third of the first quarter?