The following short is a favourite at my Dad's film evenings in Puisallicon and features one of the dirtiest women ever to appear in cartoons (and the thirties were full of them). "Whopper" here I think means fib:
In other news, the wedding of Hannah Lou to Trevor Moss in Wandsworth Town Hall yesterday was a paragon, a paean, a peach. We all sat in the Council Chamber playing with our flip out desks, enjoying the soft, Godless strains of Salt and Blue, and when Hannah walked she looking so young. They both looked so young. They are young. They fell in love young. Trevor's moustache (a lot of us had moustaches) only made him look younger, and his father was the best man and even he looked young. The best man speech at the Ivy House would later make me break my pledge.
And soon they'll be off to honeymoon in Finland (where the finals of the Mad Scientist's Laugh Competition are held). Bishop had begun to plan for his own wedding. Hiring a fake groom seemed like a good idea, then Bish could make a dramatic entrance through a window when the time came to ask if anyone knew of any lawful impediment. Heidi C. Mace said she actually knew someone who hires herself out daily as a shotgun-wielding, pregnant wedding-crasher. There is a market.
I found a payslip in my trouser pocket walking home that night through Peckham Rye. I'm finding payslips all over the place these days. That's the really insidious thing about a regular job, I realized: waiting for the payslip. You shouldn't be waiting for the end of the week. Time should not pass quickly. Good for Hannah and Trev.
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