5 October 2012


A few of you accused me of being boring in my last post.

Soz, it's just my life. I can't help it if outrageous things aren't happening to me in real time, all the time.

With that in mind, I would like to regale you with another wedding story from last year. However this one doesn't end with canapés at the OXO Tower. No, not at all.

I was actually officiating at the wedding of two of my best friends Emily and Lee. Oh yeah, I was the priest! And it was in Lake Como. Fancy and shit.

The night before the wedding, the bride and groom hosted a sunset cruise on the lake and welcome party back on shore. It was so stunning and so amazing to have so many of our friends together in one beautiful location.

I got so pissed.

The next day, I woke up feeling...OK. A little dusty, but it was manageable. I eased myself into the day with the knowledge I had plenty of time to get my head right as the wedding was not until 4pm. I also had vows to go over. No time for a hangover.

At about 2.30 I visited the bride who was madly writing and rewriting her speech. Sarah, the maid of honour was playing bridal suite bouncer and turning away anyone who tried to get an audience with Emily. As spiritual advisor I was granted a pass. I slumped down on the couch.

"How are you feeling?" Sarah asked.

"I'm not the freshest face, but I'll make it through."

She then offered me a vodka and coke to sort me out. I didn't oblige her. I'm not sure if it was the thought or perhaps the smell of the cheap only-sold-in-Italy vodka, but I felt rancid. I excused myself quietly and went back to my room with a gurgle in the back of my throat.

My roomie Kate was getting ready, "Hi, how are you?"

"To be honest, not great."

"Oh no what's wrong?"

"I think I'm gonna vom," and with that I ran to the bathroom and started spewing for Italy. Keeping in mind this was roughly an hour before the ceremony.

Kate was drying her hair and every time she heard me retching, she would turn the dryer onto a higher setting so I didn't feel self concious. God bless her. Everyone needs a roomie like that.

I felt like I had gotten most of it out and came limping back out into the room.

"Lozzie, I don't want to rush you, but you really need to start getting ready."

I wish I had a hair dryer to turn on so I didn't hear that.

"I don't think this is a one off, Kate." I rolled off the bed and went back to the toilet for round two.

Something has happened to me since turning 30ish. In days gone by if I was a little boozed, I made my peace with that and I would vomit. Now, it just swirls and ferments like a cement lorry until you wake up, still drunk and quite merry, thinking you've gotten away with the greatest crime ever, then come early afternoon the realisation it's going to take more than a bacon and egg roll to get through this one sets in. Honestly, you have to abandon anything you are doing - all you can do is remain in a foetal position with your face pressed up against a cold bathroom floor hoping, pleading with anyone who will listen that It. Just. Ends.

After a shower and a lie down, I felt OK, then the urge to vomit started creeping back into my throat. I had to go pay a final visit to the bride and somehow not make it about me, but that was becoming increasingly hard not to do.

Then in swanned our friend Cathy.

"How are you doing darl?"

"Not great Cathy, I can't stop vomiting."

"Oh that's OK. I'll just bring you back some anti-vomiting suppositories. We've got them for the kids in case they get car sick. They're child strength, so I'll bring you back 5."

Like she was giving me a stick of gum.

Cathy is Australian and married to a Frenchman and now lives in the south of France. The French apparently love to stick things up their arse. Especially suppositories.

"Oh I don't think we need to go that far?" I said waving my hand not looking up from the bathroom floor, "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Well look I'll bring them back and you can decide."

No sooner was she gone than she was back shoving a fist full of kiddie strength suppositories into my hand.

"Look I'm not adverse to putting things in my arse, but don't you have anything that can be taken orally?"

"No use darl, you'll just vomit them all back up."

I knew she would have some smart answer like that. I looked at Kate who shrugged her shoulders.

Everyone left the room.

I was convinced the suppositories were a ridiculous idea - this was a wedding in Lake Como for fuck sake. George Clooney used to live here. Not quite sure where he holidays now, but anyway I'm the fucking celebrant! I can't put my ring on it before I put a ring on them.

As I stared at myself in the mirror and then down at the five little faces in my hand, the gurgling started again. I thought, it's now or never.

I pulled down my pants and I finger banged the fuck out of my arse with those suppositories. I'm not proud of it, but it was my very last option. I scrubbed my finger and even sprayed it with deodorant just in case, all the while clenching *everything*

I don't know how, but those five suppositories worked a treat. I didn't vomit for the rest of the day and was even able to have a drink, albeit a very watered down champagne that I looked at more than drank.

I learnt two very valuable lessons that day. Even on someone's special day, it's still all about me. And never doubt the French and their little bullet shaped gifts from the baby Jesus.

Vive la France!

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