There can be little doubt that the highlight of my father's visit so far was my step-mother Janice's face when, in Café en Seine (why is this bar populated solely by middle-aged men and nineteen year old girls?) I shared a trip by trip account of the fistfuls of acid that I chewed my way through while in her care in the great summer of 1992. But I reckon we can create even sweeter memories than this over the next 48 hours.
The wedding is tomorrow and as per the advice of a wise friend, I intend pouring a couple of shots into my sister and pointing her at Finbar.
I do so want to live bleugh from the event but Common Law, straight-laced harridan that she is, is refusing to allow this. I'm bringing the laptop anyway, she'll most likely change her mind after the speeches.