Rainbow-Coloured Booze, Fire, and Addiction
Several years ago my sister had the misfortune to fall in love with and marry a man named Kevin.

My sis had a BIG church wedding, the type of affair the Beckham's would probably have scanned the itinery for only to say: "Fuck me, this is a bit pricey."

Being the helpful, useful individual that I am my sister forbade me from having any involvement in the arrangements whatsoever. All I had to do was turn up to this leafy part of West Sussex on the right day, on the right month, on the right year and stand still for a few hours.

No probs, sis. Consider it done and dusted.

So I turn up at Kevin's house the night before the wedding. My sister's off somewhere else being a big girly. Kevin's a bit of a boring fucker so we stayed in and played on the Playstation with his little brother. My suggestion that we go into Brighton and pick up some tarts was a complete non-fucking-starter.

And this is where my problems started. You see, I'm a smoker. I fucking love it. If I had a choice between sex and smoking I really would probably plum for the fags (err, cigarettes, that is - not the bum love). But my family don't know I smoke. Sounds rediculous, but quite frankly I don't see them that often and its just easier to sneak off and have a crafty smoke, eat some mints, and tut at "those evil fucking smokers," while secretly wanting to go and snog anyone who has so much as had a drag of a Marlborough Light.

And so begins the game of cat and mouse. Spanky pretends to go to the off license to pick up supplies, Spanky is actually hiding in the bushes at the end of the road, sucking the life out of two cigs in a row, chomping down on some mints, and then returning back to the house.

I knew my sister's wedding day was going to be a monumental fucking nightmare as I fought off nicotine withdrawl.

Fastforward a fair bit - its the next day, a glorious sunny Sussex afternoon, my sis and Kevin are now married. My parents have flown in from Italy and are mulling about, the church is full of relatives and well wishers. And I'm sitting near the front thinking: Fuck me, I could do with a fag. I'm incredibly aware of the packet of ten burning a hole in my jacket pocket.

After the ceremony the assembly stands and piles out of the church, we all trail next door to the hotel where my sis is having her reception.

My mum corners me and starts asking when I'm going to provide her with some grandchildren. I duck out of that one and go to the bar.

Big mistake.

I ask for some lager and the fella passes me a bottle. I go to pay him and he utters those two little words that mean so much, those two special, incredibly wonderful words. He says:

"Free bar."

And I'm in paradise.

Roll on a couple of hours. I'm stood at the bar with Kevin's little brother. He seems to have become a bit of a sidekick of mine. We've gone through all the colours of the rainbow for the spirits on offer. After we've downed some bright green stuff I beckon him closer.

"Don't tell anyone, Kevin's-little-brother, but I'm going for a fag," and I put my finger to my lips and go "shhhhhhh," and I fuck off in search of a quiet place to have a crafty cig.

And then I realise I am absolutely fucking hammered. I can hardly fucking walk.

Thankfully, its getting dark by now. I shouldn't have too much trouble finding a quiet area. Fuck! My auntie Maria's grabbed me! She wants to talk about my fucking job! Fuck off, auntie Maria! I make my excuses and move away.

Now, this hotel where my sister was having her reception was a big, posh place with big posh gardens. I stagger out and away from the noise of the gathered crowd and find myself walking towards the church, over the rolling grounds.

By this stage not even the sweet smell of the whole roast suckling pig could sway my attention. I really desperately needed a fag.

Then I walk into something on the ground and fall over. What the FUCK is THAT? I ask myself. It looked like a weird cylindrical parcel, or rather series of parcels, tied to a metal trellis of some kind. Jesus, I'm pissed. I didn't even notice it. Then, as my head clears slightly, I notice there's quite a few of these weird objects spaced out in my vicinity. I look back at the trellis I fell over, its laying on its side. I pick it up and plant it back down as best as I could, and continued in my quest to find a quiet place to smoke.

Eventually I find a secluded spot behind a tree to have a fag.

Later, much later. The dead of night. The rain has come and everyones huddled under a balcony in the hotel gardens. We've eaten, we've drunk shitloads, I've been accused of being a sex pest by my cousins, and now its the big event.

The firework display.

Oh, fuck...

Kevin stands infront of us and goes on about the weather, and says that the organisers are in a hurry to get the show on before the rain fucks up the entire display. It really is hammering down, I see a group of fellas rushing round, checking shit on the ground, only they seem to be doing so far too fucking quickly. Jesus, its only a bit of rain, well, alot of rain...

And then, with a thunderous round of applause, the fireworks start. Kevin's little brother comes and stands next to me. We watch in awed silence.

Wooooshhhh - BOOOOM!!!!

Wooooooooooossssshhhhhhhhhhhh - CRACK CRACK CRACK!!!

Suddenly a set of fireworks which just happened to be in the area where I was stumbling about earlier shoots off - but at an angle.

And three or four incredibly large and powerful fireworks slam into the side of the church just next door, just below the clock tower. It was like something out of Desert fucking Storm.

And there's a little bit of fire and a lot of smoke.

The display continues, but no ones looking in that direction anymore.

All eyes are glued on the church.

Oh, fuck...

And all the way through this I kept my gob well and truly shut.

So, when it comes to being in God's bad books, I reckon setting fire to one of his gaffs is pretty high up on the list of no-no's.

Thankfully the fire didn't last very long, but it did cause an incredible amount of damage to a three meter squared section of clock tower.

If my sister ever found out about this she would fucking kill me. Thankfully, she was insured and that covered the cost.

And anyway, I blame the cigarette and alcohol companies - they've made me the man I am today, not me...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 16:52, 8 replies)

*Ker-licks*
Brilliant
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 19 Mar 2009, 16:55, closed)

Unfortunately this is true
I'm pretty certain my sister doesn't go on this site - but if you hear about my murder in North London in the next week, my money would be on her...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 16:59, closed)

Good God!
clicks
(Grrrrr Tigers, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 17:02, closed)

Ha!
Love it, mate!
(Errin C, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 17:02, closed)

Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap!
More Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap!!!

Woo! Brilliant! I love it, true or not!
(Colonel Santiago Introduced surprised kitty to the world., Thu 19 Mar 2009, 17:05, closed)

in all fairness
the firework fudgepackers should have went round and checked all their coloured bombs before they set them off.

nice heart warming tale though!
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 17:06, closed)

I would love this to to be true.
And so I shall believe that it is.

Beautifully told.

*clicks*
( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 17:17, closed)

Blame's a funny thing
Why is it that you can blame the ciggy companies if you get cancer, and you can blame McDonalds if you get fat, but you can't blame alcohol companies for all the stupid shit you do? Or the ugly birds you shag?

The old blame game? All the pointing and accusing? Hardest game in the world. Done it meself, you see. Thirty years, man and boy.
(Helixdaunting, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 23:09, closed)