Two men overheard on the London Bridge train as it waited to depart:
– How was xx and xy’s wedding?
– Not bad. But we had to buy our own booze.
– Thought it was no expense spared?
– Got fed. And a glass of champagne for the toast.
– The way xy was talking, you’d expect the full works and then some.
– Yeah. They had goldfish in the vases on every table.
– And no booze?
– One of the goldfish jumped out of ours and died on the tablecloth.
– Fucking ‘ell.
– It was probably too hot in there.
*Part of my irregular ‘Brighton Scenes’ series.