THE wedding season is upon us again and for some of us it's a time to put all that training into action.

Already six wedding invitations have come through my door and I can see myself having to serve food at three of them. It is a task like no other and for those of you who don't know what I'm on about, next time you see hundreds of people converging on a community centre or a hotel, just park up (if you can find a spot) and saunter in.

No-one will ask you if you are invited or not. Take a seat and watch the boys take centre stage.

Organising a wedding is headache but serving food at one is not for the faint-hearted.

In the words of Run DMC it goes something like this ...

The Cadbury's wrapping paper has been laid out, the plates are on the table as are the bottles of cola and Seven-Up.

Peering out of the window you can see the regulars arriving. The tension is unbearable.

And I wait - you can hear the murmurs and a crowd approaching. The nervous young recruit next to me hesitates for a moment and cleans his glasses.

Then within minutes the hall is full. You were assigned a table but already can't remember what you're supposed to do.

The foreman is shouting for rice, but you don't know what kind. The chutney and bhoti's (chicken legs) are out first and then the rice. You were taught to fill the trays up quickly so people wouldn't think there was no food. You do as you're told but the man in the white suit is eating too fast. He's devoured 14 pieces of chicken and three plates of rice and now wants the desert.

You hurry to the kitchen, only to find, when you get back someone else has taken your place. The foreman shouts at me and tells me never to leave my post again. The first sitting is over and soon the second, within minutes of one bunch getting up there's another lot already sat down.

An hour now into the feast there's no mineral water left. I hurry and fill a couple of bottles from the sink. No-one notices.

There are fewer mouths to feed now and a momentary lull. We gather for a moment, weary-eyed, scared, tired and afraid. The injured are taken away. It is at this moment I am assigned to the women's tables.

Itry to put a brave face on but I can't. I quickly scribble a note to my loved ones, telling them life must go on and not to mourn me. When I serve the first table I am immediately told off by Auntie Nargis. She tells me the food's not arriving quickly enough and the chapattis are cold.

Women are no good at weddings I was told, and it proved so right.

They never sit where you tell them, they don't eat all the food because they feel guilty about putting on a few pounds and take full advantage of actually getting served by a man for a change.

When it is over and the aisles are cleared of the dead, all that is left are a couple of bin bags and the memory of the boys in suits who didn't want to spoil their brand spanking new clothes and give us a hand.