February 8th, 2004


Les Nuits Fauves

We hauled the primitive daguerrotype apparatus along the length of Upper Street. I have spent the night elbow deep in nitric acid dissolving various layers of my skin to bring you these astounding high resolution images.

Resisting the temptation to vandalise items of council property, the ceremony began and then ended. Aside from a moment when I believe the registrar called the Professor by the wrong first name and I thought I was going to end up being married, it passed smoothly enough. We decanted ourselves to the Salisbury Hotel where alcohol consumption caused the swelling of faces and the spontaneous emission of light from the bride's head. I spoke a fair while with the Professor's boss, Il Capo, who I will freely admit bore a certain air of Romane Bohringer about her. This is not a bad thing as regular visitors will be well aware, but, as the Professor is also a very regular visitor to these pages, propriety prevents me from discussing this matter more incompletely within a spiral of sub-clauses, asides, parentheses and allusions. Fortunately a sufficient amount of alcohol had been imbibed to remove any necessity for the consumption of bromide upon my solitary return as I swiftly fell prey to an attack of the vapours and was not to awaken again until midnight. Oh, what is it about those Italians...?

My only regret, aside from that, is my wedding speech was disastrously short. Much shorter than it should have been. I was a very poor tamada that afternoon and will need to brush up at next weekend's Georgian supra. I'd rewind that part of the day. Apologies.

The Professor and The Landlady are off to Bruges in a few days. So I wish them bounteous waffling and quaffing on their holiday and look forward to their return. Easy on those fine chips though...

I shall remain at home for the next few hours, nursing this unsteady head.