Bobbo´s Wedding

Well, it´s all over and Bobbo and Mojo are currently somewhere over the Indian Ocean on their way to New Zealand and then the island of Vercuka. Hopefully they won´t fall into a volcano.

The build up to the execution somehow ended very smoothly, after it seemed certain there was to be a verbal explosion of sorts somewhere down the line.

Rob, very wisely, stopped thinking about looking after everyone and took a couple of days out to pack his suitcase, organize his wedding and do his hair. When he reappeared with people carrier to transport us to the beach resort where the execution was to take place, he was calmish and ready to go.

After initial disappointment and surprise at the venue, which seemed like some Spanish English tourist resort, I realised I had judged too early and actually it was quite an amazing place, though the lack of a shop led to disaster at a later date.



Tiered bungalows, 7 swimming pools, fantastic all-you-can-eat restaurant and world class spa led to a short but luxurious stay.

Almost immediately people started to arrive and beer began to flow. Faces, new and familiar appeared and when everyone had finally arrived we drove into town and had tapas, beer and wine in some Spanish restaurant. The Italian choir chanted merry serenades to Bobbo and Mojo climaxing in a kiss and furious cheering. As Nicholas stated, The Spanish and the Italian contingents really knew how to enjoy themselves, it was the English who preferred to converse and drink heavily.

Breakfast the next day and a trip to The Rock. I managed to get to the top and back down again without missing lunch, having been struck on the pate by a seagull for taking some photos of her chicks.



The lunch in a seaside restaurant was massive and there must have been sixty plus revelers of all sizes, race and sex. More beer and wine flowed and Nicholas became quite agitated at the hour of doom drew near. For a while it seemed that the party was going so well that everyone appeared to forget there was a wedding to attend. Rob´s uni friend Rodger managed to get popped by an angry French driver and nearly took John Reed´s eye out with a cheap telescopic fishing rode he bought from some African street hustler.

The execution was by the pool back at the resort and it made a very pleasant location. Nicholas did a grand job and everyone looked very spiffy. Cheers were made and photographs taken before everyone headed back to the terrace for more beer, wine and gin tonics.





A big feast that night had a dozen or so grand tables full of family guests and friends. Rob and Mojo made some fine speeches as did a few select friends. After all that the disco kicked off and I got very excited when my requested songs came on. Poor Boy by Nick Drake and the Ramones got the English lot dancing. I tried smoking a cigar that didn´t agree with me and eventually I ended up in bed at about 4 o´clock.

Mother overruled my request to stay at the resort and I was woken early and had a rushed breakfast before being herded back into the people carrier. Having climbed a mountain, drunk copious amounts of alcohol and being unable to buy even a single glass of water I began getting severe shakes and car sickness as we rushed back to Valencia so the newlyweds could catch their plane. We had to stop twice as I convulsed by the roadside, downing cans of coke and bottles of water. I was rushed straight to Mojo´s luxury apartment where I slowly regained composure.

Bobbo and Mojo ventured off on their honeymoon as I lay semi comatose in their bed.

Unfortunately we were soon escorted back to Bobbo´s seedy, little hole with no hot water, broken TV and computer and a kitty litter tray brimming with fresh turds.

A late morning walk with Nicholas seemed the only way to escape this prison cell. It was a lovely walk around the orchards until Nick went arse over tit in the mud and ended up in the ditch. We hobbled back to the bunker were he is now recovering.



I managed to get the computer running and mum is keeping morale up by providing a constant supply of tea, coffee and tomato sandwiches.

Just another 32 hours before we are to be crammed like sardines onto the Easyjet flight and we make our way back to via train to Petersfield in the early hours of Wednesday morning.