Wednesday, October 12, 2005


I bleeding well love Sopranos. A fairly obvious television programme to like, but I'm past the point of caring if my tastes are obvious.

However, the best thing about the Sopranos, to me, was always Tony's relationship with his complete cowbag of a mother Livia, brilliantly played by Nancy Marchand. Damn inconvenient for Nancy to die during the filming of - was it the second or third series (sorry, ought to do my research and geek up properly)?

At some point I remember the Soprano family were having one of their endless family get together meals when Livia didn't turn up. Outrageous behaviour: in the Soprano's rulebook, kicking a man to a pulp, taking him into the woods to be shot or garrotting someone is perfectly acceptable, but not turning up at a family get together is beyond the pale. Tony was fuming about it afterwards, recalling stuff he'd learnt at his "secret" counselling sessions. "They call this fucking stuff negative attention getting, I've heard about it" he ranted. Or words to that effect - I couldn't be arsed to pore over hours of HBO scripts to find out EXACTLY what he said.

Well, there's a thing. I've come to realise that I like a bit of negative attention getting myself. Not turning up at events that I've been invited to and therefore annoying people is quite enjoyable. It happened again a week or so back.

We were originally asked if we'd like to attend Ron's 70th birthday do. As very few people were likely to turn up, it was weeks before his birthday, and we would be going to a meal with him nearer the time, we declined the offer.

Needless to say, after the event we were informed that Everybody Turned Up. The daughters-in-law turned up. "Even the babies" turned up. The two feral grandchildren whose endearing habits include biting their grandparents turned up. Worst of all - Pete And Shirley From Crockenhill turned up (it is not just Pete and Shirley. It has always been Pete And Shirley From Crockenhill). Just imagine! Pete and Shirley From Crockenhill had come all the way from Crockenhill!

The one good thing is that Norma and Roger didn't go.

"You should have come, we had a great time".

This can only mean one thing. People have been saying things about us, and have been disappointed. I quite enjoy that. This means I am a complete bitch, and I am admitting it to you here as a form of therapy.

It's a habit I've acquired over a number of years. I've used every excuse going to avoid going to weddings as I HATE WEDDINGS MORE THAN ALMOST ANYTHING. All people who invite you to weddings say "don't worry, our wedding isn't going to be the usual sort of do!" and of course it always is. I hate weddings so much that there were only four guests at my own. Once again I managed to indulge in a bit of negative attention getting, because a number of people were disappointed about my churlish behaviour. Result!

Unfortunately, the chance to avoid social events is getting slimmer and slimmer. For starters, I married someone who is likely to say "well, you can't not go, really ..." as a response to most invites. Hmm, two negatives don't make a positive in my book, but marriage is all about compromise, isn't it? The other thing is the in-laws put a lot of stock by family get togethers. I should point out that this is the only thing they share in common with the Sopranos. As far as I know, my mother-in-law has not garrotted anyone.

So this is a tough time of year for me, as all the in-law family birthdays seem to occur in the last three months of the year. Then there is the social phobic's nadir, Christmas, to deal with. The nadir of Christmas Day, of course, is those games you are forced to play after dinner. Consequences? Pictionary? How old am I, bloody seven? Better to sit at home sulking and missed by everyone else, who hopefully is tutting about your miserly behaviour. They have put themselves out, so why can't you?

Anyways, must go, can't see you tonight as I've got a migraine coming on. Laters xxx!!

I particularly hate New Year. All that false bonhomie gets on my tits.
It's even worse in the Scottish highlands as everyone buggers off before twelve so that they can be with their families to hear 'the bells'. Some party that.
You don't need excuses not to go. I have told people I don't like weddings, and won't go to any unless, for some bizarre reason, I really want to.
Mrs S's friend's daughter is getting married soon. I said I wouldn't go. "But it is only a small wedding, and we're having it at home." "I'll know where to drop off Mrs S. then."
Oh no. You came to my wedding.You must have hated every moment.
Garfer - New Year's Eve is the most depressing night of the year, and always leaves me feeling deflated, depressed and imagining everyone else is having a better time than me, even though they're clearly not. This has happened whether I'm at a party, a pub, a club or at home. This year I'm hoping to spend the night under anaesthetic.

Vicus - perhaps I should come clean and admit that I hate weddings, but behind every wedding is the hand of a fearsome mother pulling the strings, a woman who, when it comes to their daughter's nuptials, becomes a combination of Pol Pot and Attila the Hun. I'm usually too terrified to refuse an invite because of women like that.

Grunhaus - welcome to the world of Blogger commenting. Here evil lurks. Your wedding was okay as weddings go - no Barry's Mobile Disco playing Lulu's "We-e-e-e-e-ll" slightly too fast (all mobile discos used to play vinyl singles at 52 rpm) and no stilted conversations with an auntie who forces you to agree that the bride looks "lovely" even though the bride looks like Wayne Rooney and is so bandy she couldn't stop a pig in a ginnel.

Phew ... I went on a bit there. A good job people have stopped sending comments here really.
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