I didn't want to go. I griped and grizzled, and who wouldn't have? It was hardly the invitation to the wedding of the year. All right, it was, just, better than an invitation to one of those My Big Fat Greek Weddings, but how classy could a Corrie Street wedding involving Janice, and Sally, and Rosie be?
Mad Claire was on the guest list too, and everyone knows she could go off her rocker at the drop of a wedding hat. And Becky and Fiz were the bridesmaids - and the bride used to be a man.
Then there was the getting to the Croppers' wedding. This was shrouded in mystery; even the groom didn't know how he'd be getting to the venue. So we had to get on a bus - Janice screeching from the back and downing cans of ale before we even left; Norris being mean with the barley sugars; the groom looking like a man on his way to the gallows. And there were sing-alongs.
Then we had to get on a steam train - admittedly it was a beauty: The Lancashire Fusilier. The groom and his groomsman, dear wee Chesney, now all grown up and still looking like a chimney sweeper's lad from a much earlier fiction, got to stoke the boilers and even Roy almost managed to crack a grin, so stoked was he.
On board, Sally Webster and mad Claire had a blazing row. Claire had told Sally that good Christian daughter Sophie (as opposed to slapper daughter, Rosie) was a lesbian. There was no love lost even before this carry-on. Claire on Sally: "She's such a sour-faced old cow, that Sally Webster."
