Second week - Sheila

On my 18th birthday I walked down the aisle of the church in which I was christened, to marry the man I loved.  However it did not all go as it should have.   After a wonderful ceremony, we adjourned to the reception, wich my father had arranged rather reluctantly, and as became obvious, as cheaply as possible.

He had arranged for the alcohol to be on sale or return and wouldn't let anyone open another bottle of anything, if the previous bottle was not empty.  I later found he had only allowed £3 per head for food.   I was too happy to care for a while, but eventually became rather annoyed with him as he continued to display his penny-pinching attitude throughout the reception.  My husband urged me to ignore it, and I did try, but finally lost my temper when I found him hiding the full bottles so no one could drink them.

Of all places to hide them, he chose the piano.   I got them back out and passed the bottles of wine round the table, much to his dismay.  After  while, the wine had it's effect and we all got a lot more cheerful.  The band, another budget item, only had 3 members, but we were happy enough not to care about that, and finally we began to enjoy our reception.   I did not know that the best man had left to buy more wine, to add to the rather small number of bottles already supplied. 

We finally came to the end of the party, and got ready to leave.  We were not having a honeymoon, but spending the weekend in London.  As I returned to the reception, having changed into my "going away" outfit, I saw my father taking another four bottles of alcohol, whisky apparently, which had not even seen the light of day, out of a cupboard in the hall.  I was so angry with him, I took one of them from him, and threw it across the hall.  When he tried to stop me, he slipped, fell on a spilled drink, and landed on the floor.  It was extremely funny at the time, but we all quickly sobered up when he didn't get up at once.  He could not stand, and we had to call an ambulance.  After an X ray we heard he had broken his ankle.   At the time I was not very sympathetic, and regarded it as poetic justice.

He went to the hospital, where they kept him until the next morning.  We stayed in a local hotel for the night and went to London the next day.   It was too late to return the drinks to the off license and he never did get his money back.