The clock is ticking. Today is June 18th.
Around about now, some old chap is being roused from his slumbers by an attentive nurse and dressed in the wig and robes which, but for a drunken suggestion by some member of royalty around 300 years ago, would make him appear like an aging drag queen rather than a man capable of sending the innocent or guilty to spend time at Her Majesty's Pleasure.
(Yeah - I don't really go for all the paraphenalia that goes with the English legal system)
This elderly man will then be presented with a pile of paper. In between snoozes and the odd coughing fit (shaking dust off the wig) he'll come to my paperwork. He'll sign it, and then clock will be ticking. The Decree Nisi will be complete.
The clock is ticking. 6 weeks and 1 day from the Decree Nisi comes the Decree Absolute. Then its partytime.
I think I should feel sad. Or angry. Or something. But I feel nothing. Odd.
Except, of course, for the unbounded joy at knowing today is Friday and in 42 minutes I'll be in a pub, enjoying some of Fullers' finest ales.
