AS Adam Peaty and Holly Ramsay’s forthcoming wedding arrangements have shown, there’s nothing more likely to exacerbate family tensions than a marriage. Their tiff really is a humdinger.
Peaty’s mother Caroline was not invited to the hen-do, nor has she been invited to the wedding, provoking accusations from her side of snobbery and emotional cruelty. Even her chosen colour of dress (cream) has been cited as a source of tension.
It’s an extreme case, for sure, but many of us know from our own experience that a wedding is a hotbed of potential drama. Who’s invited, who will attend, who gives the speeches, who’s paying for what. Nowadays, when so many families are a series of moving parts, there are far more opportunities for a fallout.
Some years back, my stepdaughter Emma was married in London. We had a big party in my house the night before the wedding. The guests included many of her fiance’s family; Emma’s mother; sisters of her mother’s next husband; Emma’s father – my ex-husband Paul – and our son.
Everything was going surprisingly smoothly considering the emotional complexities of the layered families. That is, until the wedding day.
It was then that my ex-husband announced he was bringing his girlfriend to the reception – a girlfriend whom I had no idea existed but who had apparently been involved in his life for months. Although we had been divorced for years, I was completely thrown.
Not by the fact he had a girlfriend – I was delighted about that – but because all his children, including my son, knew about her existence but I’d had no idea. Paul was clearly concerned I would mind about her since he’d kept her hidden from me all that time. But it made the fact he chose the wedding for the big reveal even more eccentric.
The forthcoming wedding of Holly Ramsay and Adam Peaty has been overshadowed by a spat with the swimmer’s mother
I was furious. Of course I was curious to see her, but I resented the fact that, for me, the day had been hijacked by his crazy decision to bring her.
When she arrived she looked as uneasy as you might expect, but we were both adults and made the best of it. And, as it was Emma’s wedding, I wasn’t about to make a fuss.
The Peatys should probably have done the same and kept quiet, but that’s weddings for you. No event is more likely to stir up trouble.
’Tis not the season to flash those abs
Lily Allen was happy to show off her abs
Just as winter means we no longer have to worry about the condition of our exposed arms, a new part of the female anatomy comes under the spotlight – our abs.
Of course I’m jealous of the women who have them.
I thought Lily Allen looked glorious in her bralet and bare midriff at New York’s CFDA Fashion Awards. And then there’s the close to super-human Trinny Woodall, whose dedication to daily exercise has given her astonishingly pronounced ribs – as showcased in the new issue of Women’s Health.
My own abs have long been disguised under several layers of fat. Indeed, I don’t remember us ever being closely acquainted. Even when I was younger, I never had the discipline to achieve that washboard stomach look.
But am I alone in wishing we could spend these next few months in delightful hibernation, letting our bodies just settle in with some extra winter pounds under a cosy jumper?
There is a season… and this is a time to stop worrying about how our stomachs look.
I’m heartily sick of this Lemsip diet
Like much of the population, I’ve been suffering from a heavy cold all week. In general, I’m one for pushing on through, unless I’m running a high fever, but this cold eventually floored me.
When I haven’t been brewing another Lemsip or trying to find an extra blanket, I’ve been wondering at what point you’re sick enough to admit defeat.
According to the Office for National Statistics, the average sick leave for women is 2.8 days a year and 1.5 for men.
These figures strike me as highly unlikely. I don’t think I know a
single person who takes only a couple of days off work for ill health. Far from it. There are quite a few people who regard a week or so as part of their annual leave entitlement – an off-the-record extension of holiday pay – whether they are sick or not.
My boyfriend is a great one for what he calls ‘lying low’ at the slightest onset of a heavy cold, behaviour which infuriates me.
However, perhaps he’s right when he says my refusal not to give in has just prolonged my miserable condition. I have only myself to blame.
Who would police all-women carriages?
After the attempted rape of a woman on a Paris commuter train last month, there has been a call for women-only carriages.
I hate the backward-looking notion of segregation, but several late-night rail journeys have made me reconsider. The recent traumatic knife attack on a train outside Huntingdon showed just how trapped rail passengers can be during an assault, and as a woman travelling alone I’ve frequently felt apprehensive and exposed.
But while the choice of a women-only carriage seems an excellent idea, who would police it?
Especially given the trend for driver-only trains.
A Christmas puzzle that bamboozles me
Despite decades of dealing with Christmas decorations, I still find it a challenge deciding when to install the tree. Is the second week of December too early to put it up? Will it shed needles and turn scrawny before the actual day?
Then again, is the following week on the late side – short-changing the number of nights I can gaze at it, childishly enthralled by the twinkling lights?
I know this is not a major problem when considering the state of the world, but it sure beats fretting about Ukraine and the Budget.