The age of chivalry is not only past but flogged, shot and beaten to a pulp. Men do not know how to court women and women do not know how to be courted. But all is not lost.
Words are powerful, and since my readership runs into the hundreds of thousands, I do believe that the below declaration will start the process of reintroducing proper courtship that will lead to decent and proper marriage proposals. I could also offer solutions to more robust marriages. However, I do not have the space today to go into the finesse of matrimonial martial arts, cranial and coital canvassing and mysterious masticating movements. These are not metaphors.
I think some people have mistaken weddings for mid-season berry picking. You may have noticed a special breed of wedding guest: the Humungous Handbagger. Often female, this guest sports an unusually large handbag. With their handbag strategically perched on one arm, the Humongous Handbagger niftily uses the other arm to reach for berries – read wedding catering – and quickly stow them away for, one assumes, the cold season. Shocking indeed.
For couples planning their wedding this summer I have a solution for bag-stuffing guests: liquid lunches. And by this I don’t mean soup. The rewards will be manifold, starting with the fact that your guests will be appropriately inebriated and forget the fact that food was never served.
Weddings are joyous occasions and it is lovely that we get to dress up.
The problem with wedding outfits is that people have forgotten colour etiquette. In my day, if anyone wore white it would appear they were trying to upstage the bridge – and out would come the broomstick. The same antidote would go for anyone who wore black. This is not a funeral.
One of the first things that come to mind when thinking of love is passion, and with that, a string of disasters that seem to follow. Romeo and Juliet poisoned themselves for God’s sake, so did that great beauty, Cleopatra; Helen of Troy was abducted; Tristan allowed himself to be stabbed; Bluebeard locked his ladies in a room, after he murdered them, of course; and Mr Mannersworth once tied himself to a tree, baring his birthday suit to the world, while playing Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You on his iPod. I dare not tell you where he attached the speakers. Mortifying.
However sensible we may be, when love enters the equation, all rationale seems to fly out of the window. Reader, you may want to sit down if you have not already, but I too have been a victim of the love frenzy, as I like to call it.