Last weekend involved the four B’s.
Firstly Mister B and I decided in our wisdom to start making bread at gone midnight (Friday/early Saturday).
Why? No seriously why would we do that?
I blame Mister Hollywood.Yes that man off tv who has twinkly eyes and thinks it is cool to slap the hell out of dough at every given opportunity. A few hormonal women around the country wish he could get physical with their…oh never mind. Anyhow I blame him.
I always have considered making bread quite a cathartic experience. Whilst kneading the dough I normally stare of the window and watch the birds in the garden, or zone out and think about inane stuff. This wasn’t the case when Mister B was next to me. Instead it turned into a competition of who could make their dough the most stretchy like Mr Hollywood. There was much slapping and gritting of teeth. Before you call the police I am referring to the dough and not domestic violence. Even though it pains me to say it, Mister B was better at it. We left the dough to rise overnight with the bowls sitting on the underfloor heating (genius idea). Next morning bright and early I rushed down to have a look. The dough was bubbling away BUT they both looked the same.
This is where it got silly and I come to:
After knocking back the dough we then set about making the bloomers. Now get your mind out the gutter, I am of course referring to bread and not Queen Victoria’s gussets. This is where it got technical and Mister B and I had a bit of a barney. It was crazy and consisted of my loaf going in and out of the oven many many times. Fnarr fnarr! Seriously it is not worth going into detail, as it was stupid. Both Mister B and I had little diva strops. I think I won on this one though. I would like to thank Kath and Kim for diffusing the situation.
“Birty, looook at meeeeeeeeeee, loooook at moi”
On Saturday night Mrs B joined us and we went to see the legend that is Max Boyce at the local Miners Welfare hall. I have never seen or knew so many people existed in the village that we live in. The night consisted of talking about Rugby, the difference between North and South Wales-Pardon? and singing lots and lots of songs. Where the Boyce gets his energy from I will never know, as he just didn’t stop. Good night all round.
Bleary eyed, we rose early on the Sunday and toasted our bloomers, had some tea and then headed to St Cynogs in the Village to hear the first of our Banns being read. It was lovely to see some daffs on the way in. Has Spring finally sprung?
We were welcomed into the church by a lovely lady called Wendy who made sure all the details were correct for the Banns. We took a pew and then waited. The Banns were read at the beginning of the service and I admit that I gripped hold of Mister B’s hand tight. Lump in throat.
We are GETTING MARRIED!!!! I know we have known for a while but it is starting to sink in now. I keep having these moments where I keep shouting out those four words or Oh sh*t!. I sometimes do a little jig like a need a wee too. So if you see me do this just IGNORE me and pretend you don’t know me, it will pass. If you see a puddle on the floor, you know I did actually need the toilet and have made a bit of a mess.
St Cynogs, Ystradgynlais
Despite Wendy writing our names down, the vicar still managed to say Mister B’s surname wrong which made us both giggle. Brit, Brid, Bridtiwhistle. I am sure I heard him curse under his breath.
The holy communion was the longest I have ever been to. I thought the vicar was going to ask us to camp over for the night, the sermon was so long. I knew it was a bad sign when he leant on the lectern and made himself at home with a newspaper article. I even caught a lady in the choir having forty winks. I was occasionally caught off guard when we had to stand for hymns, of which there were five. YES FIVE. All we had never heard of. So all of three of us were like this:
Frantic flick flick flick of pages
“Do you know this one?” -Whisper 1
” Nope, do you?” -Whisper 2
“Er no, oh bugger”-Whisper 1
“What did you say?” Whisper 3
Mumble mumble mumble, squeak, 1, 2 , 3 verses.
All three of us learn the tune and then belt out the last verse like we had known it all our lives.
Luckily we got home at a reasonable time and I managed to cook some roast beef and yorkshires before Mrs B went home. Phew, what a long weekend of B’s!!!