"I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind..."

... I'm so-o-o tired, after a truly frenetic and frazzling weekend, mainly centred on the wedding of my brother Noel yesterday, and the packed-to-bursting reception at my parents' home - which entailed working harder and more intensively than my day job ever requires, both on Friday for the planning, and today for the post-party clean-up. Fortunately, I grabbed some solace from my wedding-day duties as usher and (awkward, oh-so-awkward) emcee to eat and drink probably what amounted to me entire body-weight several times over, so it wasn't all too draining...
In fact, it was a delightful day, with everyone enjoying a happy, hearty old time of things - and the doomiest weather forecasts proved marvellously misleading, as the sun stayed out and the rain away. Even minor could-be hiccups such as the bride's father forgetting to bring the rings failed to put a dampener on events - a quick-thinking rector handed over his ring as a temporary substitute, while the female priest conducting the service had slender enough fingers for her band to fit Vicky.
But anyway, while I've been a right old mess of emotions in the past few weeks - and especially the past week - and have behaved as a sprawling loser as a result, the fightback towards some sort of normalcy starts right here, right now.
Well, maybe not right here nor indeed right now, but this week, anyway... Honest...
In the meantime, I shall try to get hold of some wedding day photos for a more detailed, considered report, but after an evening bingeing lazily on detective dramas and sarky in-jokes from my best friend's sofa, it's time now to head to bed ahead of a return to work, pondering idly on a puzzling dream the other night about going to interview Tessa Jowell for the Mirror, only to find her ensconced in a bath - fully-clothed, mind - for the entire discussion, which ended with her attempting to throttle and drown me, before being asked by the Mirror editor to write up the experience not as an article but as a poem...
Yes, it really must be time to start sorting myself out.
(The bizarre photo comes, by the by, from this spoof report on the London 2012 Olympics bid. It's not my doing, honest. Though the image may now be a little tricky to shift from the mind...)