Six years ago today, the Duchess and I got married. Here’s my groom speech from the Big Day:
Good evening and welcome to North Yorkshire. Now most of you probably know that I work in PR so I’d like to categorically confirm that the following statements are completely true and devoid of any exaggeration or embellishment.
Welcome to the Crab and Lobster – not, as rumour has it, named in honour of marriage. You know, a sideways move for one; the other, meanwhile, just can’t stop giving it that [imitate pincer movements]. I’d like to think that it does represent the marriage to come: comfortable, relaxed, a little bit quirky and comes with range of strange but curious implements.
I’d like to thank Chris for his kind words – and, of course, for allowing me to take his marvellous daughter off his hands. The first time I met Chris and Val was certainly memorable. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and we went round their house for a barbeque. After Chris had taken a sharp elbow in the ribs from Val for greeting me with a ‘Wotcha Dave’ – Dave being Karen’s ex-boyfriend, tall, dark, glasses so easy mistake to make but no hard feelings… hey, Trigger – we made our way into the back garden to share a few beers while the meat cooked.
'Just remember: I'm watching you'
I’LL MISS SANTA WHEN HE’S BACK AT THE NORTH POLE TOMORROW NIGHT. I always experience a bit of a post-Christmas hangover, in all senses of the phrase. But it’ll be even worse this year because I’m going to have to come up with a new way of dealing with my sometimes stroppy toddler son.
This time last year, Boy Wonder was still an overgrown baby, with basic communication skills. In the space of 12 months, he’s become a young boy, with an attitude and verbals to match.
‘Look at that handy scoop levelling bar…’
The Duchess had a miserable time breastfeeding Boy Wonder, largely caused by a long, tiring birth and complicated by contradictory advice from midwives and health visitors. In the end, after a week, she put the hungry mite on powdered milk. I can’t remember why but we plumped for SMA Gold. It was a difficult time and the Duchess worried for ages that she was somehow letting down our little boy. However, he regularly ‘walloped’ his bottles (not unlike his father and grandad) and went from strength to strength.
A couple in their seventies take a shine to Little Buddha in the supermarket. After a few minutes of cooing, the man tries to extricate his finger from Little Buddha’s hand but she holds tight.
Man: ‘Bloody hell, she’s got some grip on her. Is she ont breast?’
Duchess: ‘Er, no.’
Man: ‘Problems latching love? Never mind, maybe next time.’
Duchess: ‘My husband doesn’t want any more, says we’re too old.’
Man: ‘Give over. You don’t look a day over 28. Cook him a meal, feed him a few beers and you’ll be well away. Right little lady, give my finger back.’
Nice Guardian article about the scariest programme on British TV: One Born Every Minute.
This series seems to have been on all year. It’s certainly spanned the birth of Little Buddha, so for the first five or six shows we were often watching it from behind a cushion but also willing the little blighter to get a move on so we could enjoy the euphoria unfolding before us.