The Juggernaut

As 2012 turned to 2013, the wedding was approaching like a juggernaut. I felt the ground shake underneath me at the approach of 60 stampeding guests, all expecting to see a bride in a dress, not to mention flowers and cake (none of which were yet arranged). This wedding, which I had wanted for so long, was beginning to feel like a force of doom, bearing down upon me as I fought the urge to run away.

Dress from shopweddingdress.co.uk, showing how I will probably (not) look on my wedding day...

Dress from shopweddingdress.co.uk, showing how I will probably (not) look on my wedding day…

It seems that it is normal at some point to feel as if you have totally lost control of your wedding. For me, this happened at the moment that I ceded victory to my old school friends over the guest list. Having initially decided that I found drunken guests much more offensive than children at a wedding, I made the decision to avoid inviting people I knew were likely to view the whole event as one huge piss-up. This decision survived a few weeks of anxiety and guilt, until a bad dream in which they were hurt and no longer speaking to me prompted me to invite them all. And their boyfriends.

The guest list having grown exponentially, along with the cost of the wedding, we went to view the small room into which these guests would be stampeding. At the wedding fair, we spoke to people on flower stalls and cake stalls, and the photographer we have miraculously managed to book. Everyone asked the same question

‘What date is the wedding?’ and then pulled the same expression of shock and horror.

‘How long does it take to bake a cake, seriously? Do you have to order a birthday cake a year in advance? Why would a wedding cake take a year to prepare for? Why do you all make such a fuss?’ I muttered (but silently, in my own head).

Put the word ‘wedding’ in front of anything (flowers, cake, dress, drinks, meal) and it seems to take on an extra seriousness and gravity, a slightly ominous and threatening quality – as if the ingredients are all somehow different and harder to get right.

We emerged from the wedding fair somewhat frazzled. We drove silently through the frosted country landscape, the trees becoming starker against the sky as night fell. My Intended pulled into a car park in front of a building that looked familar: – a B-and-B that we stayed in once, in the early days of our relationship. Memories rushed to greet me like old friends.

A few hours later, ensconced in front of a log fire with a glass of wine and a meal, happily discussing our past and our future and basking in a warm contented glow, I felt as if nothing could faze me. Until my Intended informed me that one of the guests is planning to bring some of their home-made moonshine to the wedding…

The Wedding Planning begins in earnest,

So, now it’s time for some actual wedding planning, as opposed to vaguely musing about weddings. In November, on the 5th anniversary of our first meeting, my Intended and I visited the country hotel that I had fixated upon for a Valentine’s Day wedding. For some reason, it was of great significance to me to end my 30s with a bang a wedding, and wake up on my 40th birthday a married woman. I might have mentioned this once or twice, but my Intended wasn’t keen on the idea and so we were sort of haphazardly thinking about a June wedding (to call it’ planning’ would be stretching things a bit), until I splurged my feelings about it all onto these pages.

‘Let’s go and have a look at the hotel then,’ he said. I called to book a meal at the hotel, and told them we were thinking of having our wedding there. I rang back later with the afterthought that we could stay the night there, too.

‘We only have the Bridal Suite available, at £400.’

I told them we couldn’t afford that, and after a muffled conversation the receptionist told me that they had managed to squeeze us in somewhere. On arrival, we were told that we had in fact been upgraded to the Bridal Suite ‘free of charge’.

‘So much to do, and only an hour before dinner!’ I mourned, sinking my toes into the deep pile carpet as I surveyed the massive apartment with wood-burning stove, whirlpool bath, HUGE TV in front of the four poster bed, private garden…’We should have got here earlier!’

It was decided. We would have a small, intimate wedding here, on Valentine’s Day, with a civil ceremony in the ‘Orangery’ with its view out on to the frost-covered hills, and spend the evening by the enormous log fire upstairs. I am swept away by the romance of this: the log fires, the hills, the escape to a country retreat – but most of all, the date. I never expected my Intended to change his mind and move the wedding forward, and the fact that he cares about my happiness – enough to indulge this whim, so silly but so important to me – feels like the most romantic thing of all

So, now we have 8 weeks to plan our romantic wedding. The invitations arrived today. I have 3 mail-order wedding dresses under my bed ready to try on when I get a private moment. Venue – check. Guests – check. Dress – we’ll see. Anything that isn’t done, won’t matter soon….