The Smoking Gun.

There used to be a smoking shelter where I work. It looked like a bus stop in the middle of a large courtyard and it seemed to be waiting patiently for a bus that never came. It was the only place where smokers were allowed to indulge their habit and there were always people there, come rain or shine, snows or blizzards. There are a lot of people where I work and the smoking shelter attracted people of all ranks and departments, all bound together by their love of the weed. 

We had a new 'big cheese' take over the reins and he used his proverbial new broom to sweep away the bus shelter and replaced it with an industrial sized ash tray screwed to a wall and a yellow rectangular line painted on the ground just big enough for 3 people to stand in. there was a sign on the wall next to the ashtray saying ' Three People At A Time Only.' This has done nothing to deter the hardcore smokers who still gather and seem to have trouble recognising the number three.  I don't smoke and it doesn't bother me that people do but I think it would be very interesting to be a fly on the wall, despite the obvious risk to health.

I have no doubt the smoking area is a hot-bed of gossip, rumour and intrigue; a place where information is shared and traded. Where alliances are formed and where certain colleagues are stabbed in the back. It's clearly a place for moaning and bitching but how many affairs and romances have been facilitated there over the years as well. How many 'I'll meet you outside in 10.' texts have been sent, not just a few I should think.

 It's like an information bazaar where people are can blow off steam and swap stories and phone numbers; a small and exclusive enclave in the dull drudgery of work. I know for a fact that the smokers in my department are privy to information that I am not. That doesn't bother me as I don't gossip and am not interested in the politics. However if you wanted to keep you finger on the pulse as they say, that's where you will find it.

I haven't smoked for nearly twenty years now but I sometimes miss the excuse to step out of work for 10 minutes for a moment's reflection and relaxation. One of my reformed colleagues also mentioned that they missed the camaraderie of being one of the oppressed minority in 'leper's corner' as he put it. No doubt if I made a fuss I could pop down to the smoking area but I don't want to stink of cigarettes or die of passive smoking so I don't think I'll bother. 'Fag breaks' are fast becoming a thing of the past and many places don't allow them at all so It won't be long before 'Leper's Corner' and its ilk are stubbed out in the ashtray of history. 

The Music of Love - Is Ska.

I went to my eldest son's wedding last week; many of you will know this as you were also there. I love weddings, not because of some schmaltzy, teary-eyed romanticism but because it's a happy occasion where families get together and have a party which includes the very young and the very old. Of course, it's also a time to raise old grievances and re-open old arguments but that's the joy of families and it generally doesn't mar the proceedings, not in my family anyway; they are quite a cheerful, laid back bunch on the whole. 

I have been to many weddings over the years including two of my own. I can remember when I was young, sliding round on my knees on the wooden floor with my brother and cousins and playing under the tables. We were probably being a real nuisance but I was having a whale of a time. When I was older, I remember going to weddings and hoping I was going to get off with a girl (hopefully not related). It is a well-known fact that everyone pulls at weddings so even I might be in with a chance. There are not many times when you can drink too much and dad-dance to your hearts content, weddings is one of those occasions. 

Every wedding I have been to has been different, and all of them are memorable; unfortunately, not always for the right reasons. But even when adversity strikes the general goodwill sees us through and I have never been to a wedding where a fight has broken out. That's not true if christenings unfortunately. They tend to follow a pattern where the young drink too much, the older folk and very young children fall asleep regardless of how loud the music is and the mothers and grandmothers start surreptitiously clearing up near the end as a signal that it's time to go home.

The Wedding last week had many memorable moments including the Bride in full regalia singing with the choir in the church, The eccentric vicar and his multi-coloured shoes, the bass and drums accompanying the hymns rather than the more traditional organ. The bride and groom dancing up the aisle to ska music and many others including Joe's fabulous dancing, no-one dances like Joe. I am sure everyone has their own memories that will last forever. 

A couple of years ago I met my dad's cousin Alfie; I didn't even know he existed. Alfie got in touch with my dad again after several years and they had been chatting on the phone. Poor old Alfie is not very well, he had a stroke and lost the use of his right side. He is practically house bound and relies on daily visits from carers. He lives in a tiny one-bedroomed council flat somewhere in the back end of West Drayton where we went to visit him. As we were standing in his dark and musty front room he looked at me and said, I remember your wedding, you played ' Nights in White Satin, A good wedding that.' He was right, we did, but I didn't even know he was there. Thirty years on and he can still remember the songs we played at my first wedding and that's why I love them. I am going to another one next month where I shall be a taking up the mantle of Best Man, roll on May the 25th. 

                         ** To Alex and Beth - all our love for the future **