What thoughtless arrogance is this? What did the good old church hall do to deserve this shunning? Aunty Christ mourns the loss of the old world… "Take me back to my old world," She pleads... The world where everything appeared so simple and easy… Aunty is not grumpy, but she reckons if just…

… the very moment that the ‘save the date’ floats down from cyber space, my rage begins to spiral upwards ... I had saved that date and had saved my money for a six day self-indulgent and well deserved trip to Paris … however if your wedding is at the local Church Hall four blocks up from my house and on a Saturday evening at 6.30, I might consider shifting  my Paris trip around for a day or two ...  I have after all known your daughter [the bride] since she was knee high and find her a fairly amusing if not terribly attractive creature ... and I have a dark suspicion that I might well be her Godparent?

… it arrives, the inevitable ‘country wedding’ invitation emailed via that ghastly ‘paperless post’ contraption that I am unable to circumnavigate without hiring The MacGuy each time at R500 an hour plus travelling costs [what in hell was wrong with a thick expensive creamy envelope with stamps stuck on its top right corner that lands with a delicious thud into your post box?]

Faux French country wedding venues seem to have sprung up in every town and hamlet dotted around this huge country of ours; grim overpriced hellish theme parks that would make a Las Vegas Elvis themed chapel a welcome joy.  “Oh!” flutes the mother of the bride, “it’s such a lovely old barn set in the most beautiful countryside with heavenly views [how I loathe ‘the view’!], lovely oak trees and Shannon [the plain and sturdy bride] has such original ideas”

… a local choir from the well hidden township? Die Kaapse Kloppers leading the bride and groom out of the brand new Victorian chapel… Oh so simple flowers in jugs and bottles decorating the raw wooden tables… Sour dough breads scattered between them and cowering under those tired oversized candelabras… Mismatched china... Table napkins embroidered with the newly entwined couple’s newly entwined initials… Darling little guest gifts tied up with raffia… It is hell! All of it… exhausted horrible hell!

… and back to the invitation as The MacGuy skillfully unfolds the twists and turns of origami paperless post and uncovers a myriad of helpful hints, overpriced guesthouses in the vicinity of the wedding barn, [it is  impossible to do this trek without spending, at the very least, two nights at ‘Henri’s country chateaux’ and the weekend special price offer of R2400 per night per person sharing including their darling little cheap trick breakfast will cost a minimum of R10,000 with a bit of tax and tipping added on]

... and then the bloody  wedding gift lists that leave you little choice but to overspend as the gifts are either a griller/slicer/blender combination at R4,800 or a potato peeler at R14 ... and who can live with the shame of being the mean sod who bought the potato peeler? ... add a few hundred gallons of petrol and a new pair of shoes to wade through another load of ‘country mud and shit’ to the list and ... goodbye darling Paris.

a griller/slicer/blender combination at R4,800 or a potato peeler at R14 ... and who can live with the shame of being the mean sod who bought the potato peeler?

What thoughtless arrogance is this? What did the good old church hall do to deserve this shunning? Farmers have authentic country weddings! The neighbours arrive with a huge wobbly melk tert under one arm and a sheep in the boot and Tannie Elsie plays the piano and Oom Skalk drinks brandy and coke and feels your bottom! The rest are a tasteless synthetic waste of good time and money and the protagonists ought to be imprisoned for expecting guests without large trust funds to attend. I will simply refuse to even attempt to open another paperless post invitation.

The world is going to hell. But before it does, please give me back my old one.