Read Online Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding: A Funny Feel-Good Romantic Comedy by Robert Bryndza - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Bryndza
Tags: Humor, Gay, Contemporary Romance, Humour, Satire, England, British, ChickLit, London, Romantic Comedy, Prison, Women's Fiction, Relationships, Comedy, wedding, jail, Diary Format, love sex and marriage, British humour, publishing industry, funny books, laugh out loud, Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, British Humor
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and easy (Fill in the enclosed form with which you’d prefer).
8 p.m Turkey leftovers (with a fresh lobster salad to start).
10.15 p.m coffee, port and brandy.
Midnight - bed.
BOXING DAY
(Warm smart tweed)
I’m trying to arrange a Pheasant shoot, and hire a few Corgis to pick up the dead birds. I will keep you posted!
Saturday 18th December 03.37
TO: [email protected]
I went to Angie's Christmas Party last night. Rocco was devastated I was leaving him. He howled, yowled, and barked pacing up and down and pulling at my coat when I went to leave.
‘What am I doing, dating?’ I said.
‘You’ve left it late to cancel,’ said Marika. ‘Xavier is out there in a taxi.’
'I can't go!' I said looking down at his Rocco’s pleading face. 'Look!' I knelt down and he stood on his back legs and put his fluffy paws against my cheek.
'I'll just be gone for a couple of hours.' I said. His little eyes searched my face, but he didn't understand and cried even more. I left quickly, hearing his howls from inside as I crunched down the snow covered path to Xavier.
‘Hello,’ I said when I climbed in the taxi and sat beside him. He looked very fashionable and young in a tight red shirt and a black bow tie, he also smelt lovely.
‘Hello,’ he grinned leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. ‘You look great.’
We didn’t say anything else for the rest of the journey to Angie’s. I was devoid of conversation, and we passed it in awkward silence with the taxi driver eyeballing us in his rearview mirror.
Angie’s house looked beautiful. Her living room with its double height ceiling was decorated to within an inch of its life with acres of fairy lights, and three huge Christmas trees. Her giant fireplace was filled with logs and a fierce fire was blazing. The sash windows were all open, but the room was still sweltering.
‘Hi love,’ she said squeezing through sweaty people to kiss me. ‘Who’s this?’
‘This is Xavier Michael.’ I said. 'He’s thirty-eight and training to be an Architect.’
Angie shook his hand.
‘Sorry, I’m not hiring anyone new,’ she said. 'Although my builders are making a right royal fuck-up…’
‘No, he doesn’t work as an Architect yet, right now he’s a Barista.’
'You look a bit young to be called to the bar,’ said Angie exhaling smoke and squinting at him.
‘No a Barista … he works in my local coffee shop.’
'Oh, I see…’ said Angie nodding with a sly smile. She went off to mingle, and on her way past whispered. ‘You dirty cow, picking up a tradesperson.’
‘Is she your sister?’ said Xavier grabbing us drinks from a passing waiter. I realised Xavier knew nothing much about me either. I went to tell him what I did, but Angie came back with her son, Barry.
‘Tell him how good further education is,’ said Angie to Xavier. ‘He’s just been released from Feltham Young Offenders Institution, he could do with further-educating himself out of the shit.’ She then pulled me away to talk to my Editor.
More guests flooded in and I lost sight of Barry and Xavier. Several drinks later, after talking to my Editor, Cover Designer, and the Head of Media Strategy at my publishing house (they are planning a huge launch for Agent Fergie in the spring) I set off to find Xavier.
Angie’s new house is huge. I climbed three flights of stairs, searching in bedrooms and bathrooms all tastefully decorated in Molton Brown colours. I came to the top landing and noticed a small door ajar on one wall. I pulled it open and climbed up a narrow little staircase which was very tatty in relation to the rest of the house. The cool air hit me as I came out on a flat piece of roof high above London. Xavier and Barry were standing together, they started laughing.
‘Shit, I thought you were my mother,’ said Barry collapsing into giggles.
‘She’s not my mother!’ said Xavier, exploding in laugher. I sniffed the air.
‘Is that Marijuana I can
8 p.m Turkey leftovers (with a fresh lobster salad to start).
10.15 p.m coffee, port and brandy.
Midnight - bed.
BOXING DAY
(Warm smart tweed)
I’m trying to arrange a Pheasant shoot, and hire a few Corgis to pick up the dead birds. I will keep you posted!
Saturday 18th December 03.37
TO: [email protected]
I went to Angie's Christmas Party last night. Rocco was devastated I was leaving him. He howled, yowled, and barked pacing up and down and pulling at my coat when I went to leave.
‘What am I doing, dating?’ I said.
‘You’ve left it late to cancel,’ said Marika. ‘Xavier is out there in a taxi.’
'I can't go!' I said looking down at his Rocco’s pleading face. 'Look!' I knelt down and he stood on his back legs and put his fluffy paws against my cheek.
'I'll just be gone for a couple of hours.' I said. His little eyes searched my face, but he didn't understand and cried even more. I left quickly, hearing his howls from inside as I crunched down the snow covered path to Xavier.
‘Hello,’ I said when I climbed in the taxi and sat beside him. He looked very fashionable and young in a tight red shirt and a black bow tie, he also smelt lovely.
‘Hello,’ he grinned leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. ‘You look great.’
We didn’t say anything else for the rest of the journey to Angie’s. I was devoid of conversation, and we passed it in awkward silence with the taxi driver eyeballing us in his rearview mirror.
Angie’s house looked beautiful. Her living room with its double height ceiling was decorated to within an inch of its life with acres of fairy lights, and three huge Christmas trees. Her giant fireplace was filled with logs and a fierce fire was blazing. The sash windows were all open, but the room was still sweltering.
‘Hi love,’ she said squeezing through sweaty people to kiss me. ‘Who’s this?’
‘This is Xavier Michael.’ I said. 'He’s thirty-eight and training to be an Architect.’
Angie shook his hand.
‘Sorry, I’m not hiring anyone new,’ she said. 'Although my builders are making a right royal fuck-up…’
‘No, he doesn’t work as an Architect yet, right now he’s a Barista.’
'You look a bit young to be called to the bar,’ said Angie exhaling smoke and squinting at him.
‘No a Barista … he works in my local coffee shop.’
'Oh, I see…’ said Angie nodding with a sly smile. She went off to mingle, and on her way past whispered. ‘You dirty cow, picking up a tradesperson.’
‘Is she your sister?’ said Xavier grabbing us drinks from a passing waiter. I realised Xavier knew nothing much about me either. I went to tell him what I did, but Angie came back with her son, Barry.
‘Tell him how good further education is,’ said Angie to Xavier. ‘He’s just been released from Feltham Young Offenders Institution, he could do with further-educating himself out of the shit.’ She then pulled me away to talk to my Editor.
More guests flooded in and I lost sight of Barry and Xavier. Several drinks later, after talking to my Editor, Cover Designer, and the Head of Media Strategy at my publishing house (they are planning a huge launch for Agent Fergie in the spring) I set off to find Xavier.
Angie’s new house is huge. I climbed three flights of stairs, searching in bedrooms and bathrooms all tastefully decorated in Molton Brown colours. I came to the top landing and noticed a small door ajar on one wall. I pulled it open and climbed up a narrow little staircase which was very tatty in relation to the rest of the house. The cool air hit me as I came out on a flat piece of roof high above London. Xavier and Barry were standing together, they started laughing.
‘Shit, I thought you were my mother,’ said Barry collapsing into giggles.
‘She’s not my mother!’ said Xavier, exploding in laugher. I sniffed the air.
‘Is that Marijuana I can
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