A SAFE MOORING: Lillian and Leonard

Did you know Blonde Bridesmaid is actually having two weddings? One of them is taking place on the cusp of winter in a country house in deepest Perthshire. The other is taking place entirely in my head. Or rather, on my Pinterest.

I can't tell you much about the first, because it's not my story to tell. I will tell you that two of the loveliest photographers in Scotland will be there. I will also tell you that the bridesmaid dresses were lovely. And that I managed to track down four perfect little cover-ups for us on ebay, £58 reduced from £240. £58 REDUCED FROM £240. Major bridesmaid points for me, I think you'll agree.

I even managed not to flinch when having my measurements taken for said lovely dress. Nobody likes to be told their ass is literally four dress sizes bigger than their boobs, but I took it like a trooper. When the lady in the shop smiled sympathetically at me and said, "Don't worry, I'm a classic pear too," I refrained from punching her in the face. Instead I recounted this "hilarious" tale to Fin, who some hours later confused his fruits and referred to me as a classic pineapple.

I don't even know what a classic pineapple-shaped person would look like, but it can't be good, can it?

Nobody would ever call me a pineapple at the other wedding, the imaginary one. That's because, in the imaginary wedding, I am a bridesmaid of the Katherine Heigl variety, except with a nicer dress.

Soon, the time will come when the imaginary wedding has to somehow be contorted into a real one, with budgets and measurements and opinions. This could be where it starts to get messy, trying to track down actual suppliers instead of pondering the aesthetic merits of fairy-light canopies versus fairy-light garlands and hypothetically filling a marquee with candles and flammable trees. But as a compulsive scourer of the internet (did I mention the ebay bargains, £58 reduced to £240? Did I??), I suspect this might be where the fun really starts.

All images and their sources can be found on my various wedding pinboards. If you would like a link to the source for any particular image, just let me know. Did I mention I'm a compulsive scourer of the internet?

Happy Friday

Friday, May 18, 2012

In which my faith in the internet is restored.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

If I'm honest, last week's unfortunate encounter with the seedy world of plagiarism and automated article spinning left me feeling a bit, well, gross. It was hardly the crime of the century, but I went into the weekend faced with the uncomfortable realisation that the fluffy, cuddly internet I knew and loved had suddenly rolled over to reveal a nasty, flea-ridden underbelly. I wasn't angry; I was disappointed. Which, as every errant schoolchild knows, is much, much worse.

But then, out of the blue, I received not one but two amazing emails from total strangers that had me gently cuffing the internet's ear and agreeing to say no more about it.

Back when I was wedding planning for myself (as opposed to playing out elaborate wedding fantasies for someone else), there were a couple of things that I simply couldn't bring myself to pay inflated wedding rates for. £300 for a five-minute car journey was one. £150 for a bit of net stuck on a plastic comb was another. So I rode to the church in the back of a friend's wonderfully cranky old motor and made my own veil thanks to a DIY veil tutorial from Rebecca Norris, formerly of Rock My Wedding and currently of the always enjoyable Florence Finds. The veil was just grand and the tutorial invaluable, so when my wedding was (finally, blissfully) over I decided to appease the wedding gods by sharing my own DIY hair flower tutorial with the fresh crop of bridelets. Off my post went into the ether, and with my debt duly paid I promptly forgot all about it.

Until, that is, an email popped up in my inbox on Friday from the gorgeous Steff, who only went and made herself a wedding hair flower using my tutorial! Behold the amazingness:

Doesn't she look beautiful? (And is it just me or is she a dead ringer for Florence Welch?)

Not only did she adorn her own head with my creative legacy, ~~Florence~~ Steff took it a step further and made hair flowers for her ENTIRE BRIDAL PARTY:

I am one proud mama right now. To think that something I cobbled together in my living room ended up being part of someone else's *actual wedding* is just the best feeling ever. I can even begin to understand why all those DIY bloggers devote so much attention to dip-dying and neon-spray-painting everything that moves. Thanks so much for getting in touch, Steff. You made my day.

Oh, and the other email I mentioned? Well, I can't actually reveal too much right now, but let's just say it has something to do with my planned blog makeover and made me squeal at my desk. Watch this space...

(YESSS! I've always wanted to end a post on one of those vague-dangling-teasers-that-hint-at-exciting-things-to-come-when-really-everyone-knows-it's-probably-something-really-boring type endings. What a week! First content-poaching, now teaser-dangling - I'm telling you, this blog is GOING PLACES. Maybe. Or, erm, not.)

Images: 1. Rodarte for Opening Ceremony Fall 2011 lookbook via Fashion Gone Rogue 2. Lillian and Leonard 3&4. Steph's own

Always a bride, never a bridesmaid

Monday, February 13, 2012

"So, what should we play?" my friend asks, as the door to the mysterious grown-up world of coffee and gossip swings firmly shut behind our mothers.

We are at her house. I, therefore, am a guest. We all know the golden rule, the one unbreakable commandment that spills in urgent whispers from our mothers' lips in that final moment before the doorbell rings. The rule is this: Put The Guest First.

In other words, what we play is up to me, and we both know it.

"Welll...", I say, casually tracing a finger along the perfect cheekbone of Joey from New Kids on the Block, whose glassy-eyed grin beams out at me from a torn-out page of Smash Hits magazine. "We could play... dressing up?"

With the quiet sigh of someone resigned to her fate, my friend reaches into her wardrobe and for the thousandth time pulls out a box brimming with feathers and hats and too-big high heels. I pounce on it, plunging my arms deep into the tangle of fabrics until my probing fingers find what they have been seeking: the cold slipperiness of overpriced polyester. I curl my hands around the fabric and pull. A handful of white skirt emerges, followed by a row of tightly-curled pink rosebuds. One perfectly spherical sleeve. A flurry of lace. I keep tugging until, finally, I am cradling it in my arms - the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.

Eagerly I poke my skinny arms through the armholes and begin to wrestle the dress over my head. My tropical-fruit-themed t-shirt bunches up around my shoulders. I tug the dress down as far as it will go, but still I need to roll my cycling shorts up my legs to stop them ruining the effect. I squeeze the matching satin slippers onto my feet, toes crammed together like socks squashed into a drawer. The dress's label says age 3-4. I am eight.

I stand in front of the mirror, and I don't see the satin straining across my chest, the faint outline of a pineapple visible under the cheap white fabric. I don't see my arms turning blue as the elasticated puff sleeves slowly cut off my circulation. I don't see the hideous 1980s confection of a frock that one day I will ridicule.

I see something beautiful. I see something special. I see something loved.

I see a bridesmaid.

I have never been a bridesmaid before. My mum was a bridesmaid multiple times (seven, eight?) and it has always seemed to me a rite of passage, an essential stop on the coach trip to womanhood. So much so that I even put it on my life list. But, not having a sister or a sole all-consuming Best Friend, I secretly suspected it might never happen. Even though I have skills, contacts, so many ideas, maybe I'm just not bridesmaid material.

Except, apparently, I am! YESSSSS!!! Thank you Blonde Bridesmaid. It's a pleasure and an honour.

I am already taking my duties very seriously, spending Saturday afternoon reading my long-awaited copy of the APW Book (which, by the way, is excellent so far. Where the hell was it two years ago when I was tearing my hair out over the cost of hiring a wedding car for a three-minute journey?) and searching for pictures of weddings with fifteen bridesmaids as proof that a mere four is not, in fact, too many, and any friend of the bride's mother who says otherwise can just bugger off.

I don't want to speak too soon, but I think I'm going to be good at this.

{Top image: Lichfield/Getty Images. Bottom image: Lillian and Leonard}

Keeping it real.

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

I carry your heart.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Check me out!

Thursday, September 01, 2011

What's red, very hot, and makes you look like a four-armed two-headed Gryffindor?

Monday, August 22, 2011

A Siamese Slanket, OBVIOUSLY.

Otherwise known as "The Best Present Ever".

Well, it's actually tied in first place with a stunning bouquet created by the super talented Sophie of I Heart Flowers. Both of which were given to us by lovely Lucy Stendall and her husband, when they came to stay this weekend. Can you believe she got us a Slanket just because I mentioned it on my About page? Do you think if I mention how jealous I am of her iPhone, she'll get me one of those too?

Flowers (mine are even nicer) by Sophie, picture by Cara and Nye a.k.a. Lillian and Leonard

I was also lucky enough to spend time with not one, but two sets of twin girlies this weekend. First, we met Cara's adorable babies (with Cara, obviously. They weren't just having a wee day out on their own). Last time I saw Cara, I was all, "Arrrgh, I just got MARRIED!!!" and she was all five months pregnant, so hopefully I was more coherent and she was more comfortable this time around.

I was very proud that I could tell Ella and Amelia apart; if I hadn't been able to tell just from their little gorgeous faces, I would have worked it out pretty quickly after E sat quietly, gazing up at me and gently grabbing bunches of my skirt in her sticky wee fingers, while A rolled around on the floor chomping on a squidgy toy shaped like a blood-spattered dagger (awesomeness) and letting out the occasional wail, just in case we'd forgotten she was there.

Little twinnies by Peonies and Polaroids

Then the following day, we celebrated the 80th birthdays of Fin's granny and her identical twin sister. Yes, that's right. Twin grannies. They're almost as cute as the twin babies.

It's always fun to spend time with The Twinnies, as they are affectionately known by their offspring, just to see the amazing bond that they still share after all these years. Both of them have now lost their husbands, and they never seem to tire of each other's company or run out of things to say. I couldn't help thinking, as I watched them setting side by side, two fluffy grey heads bent together, of Cara's little ones and how lucky they will be to always have each other.

Big twinnies by Lillian and Leonard

Then yesterday, as if our weekend wasn't treat-filled enough, Fin and I had our very own mini Love Shoot with Lucy. Now, Fin is on record as saying he would rather chop his balls off than participate in any form of photo shoot. (I feel a bit bad using the word balls beneath a picture of The Twinnies, but what can I do? I'm not responsible for the filth that comes out of his mouth.) I have no idea what Lucy said to Fin when I was out of the room, but somehow he was persuaded it might not be *quite* as bad as being castrated, so we trotted out to the nearby harbour and got our pose on. In between Lucy and me laughing hysterically, me looking decidedly shifty, and one position that made it look as if I had done a poo on the harbour wall (which, to be clear, I HAD NOT), hopefully Lucy managed to get something that didn't make us look like total weirdos. It's no easy task.

No doubt I'll share the results at some point, but until then, here's one of us looking like weirdos. Just to prove my point.