Boris appeared rather sheepishly having ended up sleeping in the spare lounge for reasons not entirely clear although certainly nothing to do with our lad's snoring, oh no.
With some cricket arranged for the Sunday to give everyone something to do rather than getting bladdered a number of the gang turned up in some frankly shocking attire. First Dafydd as Maggot
then Churchy as a septic 
and finally Boris as a smug bastard. 
The cricket was, if one was honest, a little village with rather too many small children involved for us purists at Bogun Towers but we must commend our subject's efforts to do something about that, competing for catches with the 5 year olds and generally hurting them (the highlight being crashing down on one kids ankle with an almighty crack...and tears) although sadly the kids just could not be put off.
Eventually as the day drew on many sad goodbyes had to be said and pretty soon numbers were getting low, the taffs (Pofydd and Nidur) set off and reported back from the M20 that it was blocked and they were parked up (and Polly bizarrely was sunbathing on the carriageway) and our subject quickly used this in an effort to persuade Naughty Nigel and TCO to stay the night (as he, Boris, Mr and Mrs Churchy were with the happy couple). Naughty Nigel was somewhat difficult to persuade and so our subject promised to tell him once Nia had let him now the road was clear. Of course he didn't actually keep to that promise as else he was bound to head home.
The group eventually made their way into Sandwich where a prescient publican put them in a private room to let them regale each other with their appalling stories and raucous humour.
A few quiet drinks back at the house topped off a truly brilliant weekend, easily the best wedding he has been MC of.
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