{That's a flower girl under there, in case you were wondering}
I'm sure there are plenty of reasons why there are so many pictures of the back of my head.
I'm sure it's not that Cara and Nye just didn't want to take pictures of my face.
Maybe they were simply too enamoured with my DIY hair flower?
If you are even remotely interested in how I made it, head over to Rock My Wedding
for the full tutorial, a free template and more of my general ramblings.
I'll be back here, wallowing in the rubble of my self-esteem.
Thanks, Lillian and Leonard. Thanks a lot.
{P.S. You might want to swing by on Sunday. Say, around 2.30. If you like.}
I happen to believe that getting married is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. (For the record, I think this is true no matter how many times you do it, because each person is different, each relationship is different, and therefore each marriage is a different experience.) Contrary to what the WIC would have you believe, things that are NOT once-in-a-lifetime experiences include but are not limited to: wearing a fancy dress, hosting a big party, getting some pretty pictures taken, having people say nice things about you, buying and arranging flowers, and eating food. All of those things, you can do again. Often, even. But the one thing that will not ever be repeated, the one thing you will never have done before nor ever do again, is get married to that person. (Unless you are Elizabeth Taylor, of course; but, sadly, many of us are not.)
Despite this, the getting married part is often the part that is glossed over, which seems odd to me, since it's the only thing that separates a wedding from, say, a graduation or a 21st birthday party. And I should know, because Fin and I were at each other's graduations and 21st birthday parties and we certainly didn't come away from any of those events feeling like we felt on the 24th of July last year.
I think part of the reason why we don't hear this part of the wedding story is that it's so very difficult to put into words. Meg had a good go at it, but the closest description to how I personally found the experience of getting married has to be this:
"...all of sudden you'll be like .... fucking hell this is horrible! And it'll just hit you like WOAHHH and it'll be ARGGGG and then all of a sudden she'll be there and you'll be so relieved and it's like THANK GOD..... but that's when everything starts happening all at once and it's like a montage and it all rushes by LIKE A MONTAGE..."
As accurate and as eloquent as this description is, though, it doesn't quite do justice to exactly what I'm trying to convey. I'm thinking about more than just the moment itself, more than just the ceremony, or even just the wedding day. I'm thinking about the whole act of getting married, from the moment you make the decision, together, that yes, you are actually going to do this thing, you are going to bind yourselves to each other for as long as you both shall live, to the moment you say your vows to each other, and mean them, and walk out into the sun as husband and wife (or into the rain as wife and wife, or into the snow as husband and husband. You get the picture).
I was racking my brains trying to think of something I could compare it to, a way of somehow putting into words what is fundamentally an indescribable experience. 'Tis tricky. The best I can come up with is an extended and slightly tortuous metaphor. This is going to sound incredibly lame, but please, please, go with me on this.
Getting married is like getting on a roller coaster.
I did warn you. Bear with me. I beg you.
Note that I didn't say it's like being on a roller coaster. It's like getting on a roller coaster. Which is, clearly, quite different.
When Fin and I were in Santa Cruz, we went to the boardwalk, home of the mighty Giant Dipper. We were at the boardwalk, we knew we were going to go on the Giant Dipper at some point; we just didn't know exactly when. When we first arrived, I was ready to go straight there, but Fin was hesitant, a little nervous. He didn't see the hurry. So we went on a gentle ride first. We rode slowly through the sky and watched as other people entered the Giant Dipper, as they waited in the queue, jumped on the ride and were whisked off into the great unknown. Sigh.
Our meandering little ride was fun too, though. We huddled together, admired the view across the bay, pointed out giggling teenagers on awkward dates and stands selling strange American snacks. It was a lovely little ride; but the Giant Dipper was beckoning.
When we eventually alighted, we agreed that the time was finally right for the big one. The behemoth. The Giant Dipper. We were, quite rightly, crapping ourselves at this point, but together we went through the turnstile and joined the queue. We were committed; we were going to do it. And so commenced the hard part: the long wait, the frustration, the slow and painful progress that we hoped would all be worth it, in the end. Sometimes the wait was boring. Sometimes it was uncomfortable. Sometimes the chatter of all the people around us was funny, sometimes it was distracting, sometimes it was utterly overwhelming.
But the wait was fun too; we could prepare ourselves for what we were about to do, there were stories to read and pictures to keep us entertained, and we peered ahead, craning our necks to see round the corner, wondering what the ride would be like when it was finally our turn to get on.
We get closer. The excitement and the terror increase exponentially with every step. Then, almost unexpectedly, we find ourselves at the head of the queue. The moment has come. Suddenly it's all moving so fast. We're being ushered through, taking our places, everyone is already there, waiting, expectant, and the empty cars rush up and jerk to a shuddering halt before us.
This is it; last chance to back out. I know that I can still turn away. It will be embarrassing, no doubt, but once I'm in that thing there's no getting out of it. Who knows what lies beyond that dark tunnel? From the safety of our little ride it looked exciting and terrifying and wonderful, the best ride in the world, but now it is here in front of me it all suddenly seems so unknown, so rickety and dangerous and old-fashioned. How can I trust it, how can I put my faith in its fragile timbers?
But then Fin steps into the car. And he turns to me, and reaches for my hand. And suddenly, my path is clear. My choice melts away; I don't need to choose. I a chose long time ago. I place my hand in his outstretched palm, and together we let ourselves be clamped in. No going back. With a hiss of breaks and a clanging bell, the train moves forward, more smoothly than I had imagined, then, gathering speed, whips us round the corner and into the darkness.
I don't know what comes next.
If the act of getting married is like getting on a rollercoaster, then we are just at the beginning of our ride. Soaring peaks and stomach-lurching drops lie ahead, all the way.
I am reminded of a friend of my parents', a warm, funny Scottish bloke who was a great skier. He died of cancer when I was 9 or 10, and his wife and young family placed a bench in his memory at a ski resort in the Scottish Highlands. The inscription read, "The moguls were great, but the run too short." That's the kind of epitaph that in my heart I wish for our marriage; one day, hopefully a very long time from now, to be able to look back at all those ups and downs and think, "Wow, that was fun. I wish we could just stay on this ride forever".
See? The metaphor wasn't that bad, was it?
P.S. Hands up if you now have Ronan Keating stuck in your head.
P.P.S. I have a little extra special bonus post for you this afternoon, so make sure you come back after lunch...
You know what you don't ever seem to hear about on wedding blogs? Wedding FOOD. I don't know why that is. I mean, it's weddings and food. TOGETHER. Seriously, what's not to love? Maybe it's because it's usually the bride who's telling the story and, apparently, brides do not eat at their weddings (was I the only one who actually ate something at mine??), or maybe it's just because wedding food is so often criminally dull.
My friend Kristen has a lovely boyfriend who just happens to be a professional chef. If my boyfriend were a professional chef, I can tell you right now that I'd be a big giant fatty, but not Kristen - damn her and her skinny genes. Anyway, as head chef of an exclusive country hotel and with plenty of weddings under his belt, he could tell you a thing or two about wedding food, and has been known to express his horror at much of the cookie-cutter fare that is served up at wedding after wedding after wedding.
Your average Scottish hotel wedding menu might consist of some kind of smoked salmon starter situation, or maybe some haggis if we're being *really* Scottish. This will invariably be followed by chicken that is so dry you have to slug copious amounts of wine just to force it down (well, that's always been my excuse), accompanied by a dribble of salty gravy and some rock solid potatoes. For pudding, you're usually talking (yawn) cranachan. Much as I love cranachan - a deliciously fattening confection, consisting of masses of cream, oats and raspberries - it does get rather tiresome after the seventh wedding of the summer. Finally, the meal will be put out of its misery with a splash of coffee in a cup so small you can't actually fit your finger through the handle (tea, always go for the tea! Big cups!) and maybe, if it's a very posh affair, a wee sliver of shortbread. Oh, the excitement.
The best bit though, is the vegetables. Specifically, the seemingly exclusively wedding-related trend of Vegetables Wrapped In Other Vegetables.
One tipsy evening, Fin and I were regaling Kristen and her boyfriend with tales of a wedding we had recently attended, and the first thing he asked was, "Were the vegetables wrapped in other vegetables?". Erm... yes, as a matter of fact, they were. "Let me guess, let me guess. Was it... a courgette with carrots sticking through the middle?" No, actually, it was a carrot with mange touts sticking through the middle. "Ah! A new development in the Vegetables Wrapped In Other Vegetables phenomenon!"
Apparently, Vegetables Wrapped In Other Vegetables are the height of culinary tackiness. They're like the food equivalent of selective colouring. In other words, just don't do it.
When it came to our wedding food, I hoped it wouldn't be yet another bland meal to be endured rather than enjoyed, a way to kill time between the ceremony and the drink-fuelled dance-fest. The golf club where we held our reception was at the end of the street where I grew up, and we chose it for all sorts of reasons - convenience, nostalgia, subsidised booze - but when it came to the food, we took a leap of faith; the most I had ever eaten there was fish and chips. But they assured us they could pull it off, and we had no choice but to trust them.
When it came to our wedding food, I hoped it wouldn't be yet another bland meal to be endured rather than enjoyed, a way to kill time between the ceremony and the drink-fuelled dance-fest. The golf club where we held our reception was at the end of the street where I grew up, and we chose it for all sorts of reasons - convenience, nostalgia, subsidised booze - but when it came to the food, we took a leap of faith; the most I had ever eaten there was fish and chips. But they assured us they could pull it off, and we had no choice but to trust them.
A few weeks before the wedding, we trooped nervously along for our scheduled tasting. Oh my word, it was delicious. Beyond delicious. What's more, it was beautiful. Each trial dish had been prepared twice, in two different presentation styles, so we could pick and choose how the food would look as well as taste. Tower or stack? (Stack.) Rocket or micro-herbs? (Micro-herbs.) Chocolate sauce squiggle or chocolate sauce heart? (Heart, obvio.) We left delighted and relieved, and every day until the wedding we hummed and hawed over what we would choose on the day (that's right, we had actual choices on the day. Three choices! For each course! For 140 people! Winner!). And of course, of utmost importance, there wasn't a vegetable-wrapped vegetable in sight.
Or so we thought.
Until the moment on our wedding day when the waiting staff streamed out of the kitchen and, with a flourish, placed steaming dishes before us. Moist, melt-in the mouth beef, creamy mashed potatoes, a rich, unctuous, gleaming sauce, and... oh god. What is that. Is that... yes it is. Oh no. It's Vegetables Wrapped in Other Vegetables.
CRINGE!!
As the guests of honour, Fin and I came face-to-face with this monstrosity before anyone else. We wolfed down our food, watching nervously as plates arrived at table after table, edging ever closer to where Kristen and her boyfriend were sitting. The tension was unbearable, the mortification almost too much. Finally, the moment arrived.
The plate is set down. He looks at it. He looks at Kristen. Then the two of them look at us. And we all dissolve into utter hysterics.
Bizarrely, it's one of my favourite memories of the day. I like to think of the Vegetable Incident as yet another example that no, things might not be exactly as you've planned them, but you know what? They'll be better.
Now, dish (pun only a little bit intended). What is the best/worst wedding meal you've ever encountered? What about your own - barbeque, food truck, four-course banquet? Mmmm, food...
P.S. Remember when Kristen and her boyfriend treated us to a night in the swanky hotel where he works? Guess what the waitress brought to our table for dessert? Two huge plates, covered in delicate whorls of caramel sauce, and bang in the middle: carrots wrapped in a courgette. I'm pretty sure the other diners thought Fin and I were having a synchronised fit when that arrived.
{All images, yet again, by the utterly-amazing-in-every-way Lillian and Leonard. Apart from the vegetable ones, clearly.}
Although this week is unashamedly dedicated to all things wedding-related, I haven't forgotten that we are also now less than three weeks away from Fringe by the Sea, and I still have more of my favourite acts to share with you from this year's programme. I had intended to run this post later in the week, but my lovely mum (who, in case you missed them, left some particularly brilliant comments here yesterday) is enduring yet another round of the dreaded scanxiety today, so as well as loading you up on wedding goodness and shamelessly promoting Fringe by the Sea, I also wanted to do a wee something special for her. Fortunately, I can kill three birds with one stone, thanks to the big bundle of folky awesomeness that is Kris Drever.
But first, I need to backtrack a little. As you know by now, the Hubster is really into music. Specifically, new music. Aside from a handful of beloved favourites (Morrissey and Bruce Springsteen are with him - and, by default, me - for life), few artists will outlast his limited attention span. He will happily wipe half the albums from his iPod and replace them without a second thought.
I, on the other hand, suffer from the unfortunate and somewhat self-defeating belief that if I don't know it, then I won't like it. I find new music exhausting; you have to listen to a new song sooo many times before it actually starts to mean something. Frankly, if I can't sing along to it, I fail to see the point. But once a song has worked its way into my consciousness, once its comforting melody has settled over me like a soft blanket, once its lyrics trip effortlessly off my tongue... well. Then it is mine for life.
Songs, for me, are memories. As soon as the first familiar chord trembles across the airwaves, I am instantly transported to a different place, a distant moment. There is one song in particular that is relatively new to me, but which in the last eighteen months or so (that counts as new, right?) has rocketed to the top of my charts and become inextricably linked in my mind with our wedding, with family, with simple pleasures. And, fortunately for me, the man who performs it the best is appearing at Fringe by the Sea. Squeeeeeal!
I'm not normally a fan of music in blogs; I'm yet to be convinced that the written word and the sung one sit comfortably together, at least not when you're *ahem* reading them at work (autoplay is the enemy of surreptitiousness). However, in the case of the lovely Kris Drever and one of my favourite songs, Shining Star, I will make an exception, because I want to share with you not only the song that I love but the memories that abide with it, the reasons why I love it. This little ditty means a lot not only to me, but also to Fin, and to my family. It immediately fills me with images of a waltz. A long drive home. A wedding. Joy.
First, the waltz.
It has been a long day. A day of words written in the sand, a lone balloon waving in the breeze, one sandy knee, and a question. The question. An old ring on a new finger, champagne popping, hugs and grins and long-distance phone calls. It's my birthday, but that's not why we've been celebrating.
It's late now. The windows gaze blackly into the winter night, but the lamps are on and the room is cosy in the warmth from my parents' stove. Music plays softly in the background. We have no date, no venue, no idea what we're letting ourselves in for, but somehow we find ourselves discussing, of all things, our first dance. Dredging up memories of chaotic ceilidhs and the horrendously awkward tango lessons we grappled with the year before. It transpires that Fin does not know how to waltz.
Mum can waltz! Mum, teach us, please, go on. Mum, we need your help.
Perhaps it's the peculiar mix of excitement and terror that I'm experiencing. Perhaps it's the gentle one-two-three-one-two-three of the song that's playing. Perhaps it's just the bubbles. But when Fin declines to dance, I bounce up and my mother and I begin to waltz. Round and round, socks slipping on the carpet, avoiding the couch and the Christmas tree, laughing with the sheer silly joy of it all.
For as long as I can remember, my mum and I have sung in the car together. From The Beatles to The Lion King, Guys 'n' Dolls to Diana Ross; if it's got a chorus, we'll be warbling away. I have even been known to bust out a few harmonies. Just call me Liesl Von Trapp.
Kris Drever is doing his best, bless him, but he is no match for my mother and me. We hit our stride and the familiar chorus rises to meet us. Side by side we sing, joyful and unembarrassed, as the men sleep on.
The gravelly rush of our tyres on the road quickly fades as we pass by. Around us the wild hills are silent. In this moment, all is well with the world.
And finally. A wedding.
The laughter swells and falls. The table in front of my dad is littered with notecards, each covered in his distinctive scrawl; a final card rests lightly in his hands. He looks around the room, surveying the twinkling eyes and the flushed, happy faces. Fin's arm encircles the back of my chair, his wedding ring looking strange and new on his hand, and I lean into his warmth. My mum glances over at us and smiles. There is pride in her smile, there is relief... and something else. Something... mischevious.
Uh-oh.
My dad addresses the crowd for the last time. He tells them he'd like to finish with something special, just for me. He says there is a song that has been floating around recently, one that my mum and I are especially fond of.
And then, in a crowd-pleasing move that maybe isn't quite as smooth as he had pictured it, but which is pretty impressive nonetheless, he reaches down and liberates his trusty mandolin from its masking-taped hiding place under the top table.
My dad is a musician. I should have seen it coming. But I didn't.
When my brother, resplendent in a kilt for the first time in his life, jumps up brandishing a ukulele to join my dad in the chorus, I think my mum might burst with joy.
In a day that I had personally planned and organised and listed to within an inch of its life, there was still room for surprises.
That is why I love this song.
Kris Drever played at Fringe by the Sea in 2011. Check out the website for details of this year's programme!
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| One of the most lust-worthy weddings EVER. Sigh. Beautiful Aisling, captured by Simon Fazackarley, via Rock My Wedding |
So. Yesterday, I announced that this week would officially be known as wedding week here on the blog. Unfortunately, I only decided that this week would be wedding week about three seconds before I wrote and published that post. "It'll be fine!" I thought. "I have LOADS to say about weddings! I love weddings!"
And it's true, I do love weddings, even now. I still subscribe to a couple of the more awesome wedding blogs, and I follow a few more wedding industry tweeps than I care to admit. I figured I could churn out a week's worth of wedding-related goodness in my sleep, no bother.
One post in particular that I thought would be a piece of cake to write was something along the lines of "If I could do it all again, what would I do differently?". I've written elsewhere that some aspects of wedding planning literally reduced me to tears, and that my wedding wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination (because, um, perfect doesn't exist). One inescapable consequence of continuing to read the odd wedding blog (and especially keeping up with Lillian and Leonard's blog - oh, the swoon-worthiness!) is that I am still being bombarded with images of beautiful, stylish, imaginative weddings that, on a purely aesthetic level, blow mine completely out of the water. Major wedding envy. Surely, then, there must be lots of things I'd like to change, if I could go back?
Well all I can say is, thanks blog. Because of you, I have had this Kylie Minogue song stuck in my head ALL DAY.
This is so embarrassing. Not the Kylie Minogue part - there is no way I'm the only one who was obsessed with Kylie circa 1989, a.k.a. the Jason Donovan Years, do not even lie - but the wouldn't-change-a-thing part. Have I no imagination? No ambition? Am I so utterly smug and narcissistic that if some unspecified deity granted me the power to travel back in time, thus simultaneously disproving the chronology protection conjecture and causing my head to explode, there isn't ONE TINY THING I would change??
Honestly, I racked my brains. I did.
First, I considered the obvious - the dress.
Every season, wedding dress designers unleash a whole new crop of silken beauties to shamelessly tempt and seduce us. There is always, always, another dress waiting just around the corner that is more beautiful, more elegant, more glamorous, more flattering, more perfect. The dreaded You & Your Wedding forums (yes, that's right - that's where it all started. I'm even more embarrassed now) are packed with dress wobble after dress wobble; women who are filled with regrets and insecurities, wondering if they should have picked this dress or that dress, held out a little longer for The One... it's exhausting.
Sure, other dresses have caught my eye, and my imagination, in the year or so since I have been aware of these things. I'm sure many of them would have looked just as good, maybe better. The point is - who knows? And more importantly, who cares? I don't believe there is One Dress for me any more than I believe there is One Person for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm really quite fond of Fin, but it strikes me that it would be an awfully big coincidence that the one person in all the billions of people in the world who could possibly make me happy just happened to turn up in the right place at the right time. Seriously. What are the chances?
Besides. I looked hawt in that dress. Job done.
Well then, if not the dress, what about the venue? Would I opt instead for a dreamy, fairy-lit landscape? An elegant city townhouse with high ceilings and twinkling chandeliers? Perhaps a snow-covered castle?
Are you kidding? Our venue was thirty seconds from my house! Best decision ever! Moving on.
Okay, now we're getting to it. If I could change one thing, one teeny tiny thing, maybe it would be the bridesmaids' dresses. They were just so... green. I mean GREEN. Perhaps the decision was made too quickly, perhaps I ought to have splurged a bit more, searched harder, chosen something that wasn't so obviously a Bridesmaid's Dress.
But then I never would have been compelled to make fabulous floral sashes for the Green Bridesmaids' Dresses, in an attempt to make them look a bit less Green.
And then I never would have found this picture, hidden inside the last remaining copy of the July issue of Wedding Ideas Magazine on the shelves of my local supermarket last week:
That's right, it's my lovely ladies in print once again. That's twice, for those who are keeping track. They're like totally famous and stuff. Although I would just like to point out that, whilst they are indeed clever bridesmaids, it was *me* who actually made the fabulous floral sashes. You know, me, the bride? The one who isn't even in the picture? Not that I'm jealous, or anything...
I suppose what I'm trying to say, in a roundabout and semi-coherent way, is that Kylie Minogue and quantum physics are both bang on*. I can't go back in time, and even if I could, I wouldn't change a thing.
*Possibly the most bizarre sentence I have ever written.
What about you? If you're already married, would you change anything about your wedding, if you could?
Honestly, I racked my brains. I did.
First, I considered the obvious - the dress.
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| Erstwhile objects of my affection. Michelle Roth 'Maya' and Stephanie Allin 'Kelly' and 'Agi' |
Every season, wedding dress designers unleash a whole new crop of silken beauties to shamelessly tempt and seduce us. There is always, always, another dress waiting just around the corner that is more beautiful, more elegant, more glamorous, more flattering, more perfect. The dreaded You & Your Wedding forums (yes, that's right - that's where it all started. I'm even more embarrassed now) are packed with dress wobble after dress wobble; women who are filled with regrets and insecurities, wondering if they should have picked this dress or that dress, held out a little longer for The One... it's exhausting.
Sure, other dresses have caught my eye, and my imagination, in the year or so since I have been aware of these things. I'm sure many of them would have looked just as good, maybe better. The point is - who knows? And more importantly, who cares? I don't believe there is One Dress for me any more than I believe there is One Person for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm really quite fond of Fin, but it strikes me that it would be an awfully big coincidence that the one person in all the billions of people in the world who could possibly make me happy just happened to turn up in the right place at the right time. Seriously. What are the chances?
Besides. I looked hawt in that dress. Job done.
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| Spellbinding. Celia's stunning wedding venue shot by Cathryn Farnsworth via A Practical Wedding. |
Well then, if not the dress, what about the venue? Would I opt instead for a dreamy, fairy-lit landscape? An elegant city townhouse with high ceilings and twinkling chandeliers? Perhaps a snow-covered castle?
Are you kidding? Our venue was thirty seconds from my house! Best decision ever! Moving on.
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| Coolness personified, Elsie's big day by Arrow & Apple via ♥elycia |
Okay, now we're getting to it. If I could change one thing, one teeny tiny thing, maybe it would be the bridesmaids' dresses. They were just so... green. I mean GREEN. Perhaps the decision was made too quickly, perhaps I ought to have splurged a bit more, searched harder, chosen something that wasn't so obviously a Bridesmaid's Dress.
But then I never would have been compelled to make fabulous floral sashes for the Green Bridesmaids' Dresses, in an attempt to make them look a bit less Green.
And then I never would have found this picture, hidden inside the last remaining copy of the July issue of Wedding Ideas Magazine on the shelves of my local supermarket last week:
That's right, it's my lovely ladies in print once again. That's twice, for those who are keeping track. They're like totally famous and stuff. Although I would just like to point out that, whilst they are indeed clever bridesmaids, it was *me* who actually made the fabulous floral sashes. You know, me, the bride? The one who isn't even in the picture? Not that I'm jealous, or anything...
I suppose what I'm trying to say, in a roundabout and semi-coherent way, is that Kylie Minogue and quantum physics are both bang on*. I can't go back in time, and even if I could, I wouldn't change a thing.
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| Me and Fin, and a boy looking jealous of our ice cream, by Lillian and Leonard |
What about you? If you're already married, would you change anything about your wedding, if you could?
This time last year, things were a wee bit hectic. One might even describe them as fraught. There were dresses to collect, table plans to finalise, visitors to welcome (or not welcome, thanks to pesky visa issues), little cousins to cuddle, flowers to arrange, golf tournaments to throw, wedding rehearsals to organise, friends to coordinate, cats to herd...
I have declared more than once that I didn't want to turn this blog into some sort of wedding retrospective. A wedding is one day; a marriage, touch wood, lasts a lifetime. And let's not forget that there is more to a woman, in this day and age, than her marital status. There's her shoes, for one thing.
But you know what? For me, that wedding was a big damn deal. If it wasn't for that wedding, I wouldn't have a blog (or a husband, or a rather nice selection of Sophie Conran crockery). And as the Earth comes to the end of its first trip around the Sun with our baby family on board, I too am coming full circle and becoming once again preoccupied with thoughts of that crazy week, and that one mental day.
So, I thought I'd turn this week into wedding week here on the blog, if that's ok with you.* I haven't fully worked out yet what this will entail, but there will probably be some of my own thoughts and reflections, there will in all likelihood be a bit of nonsense, and there will DEFINITELY be some pretty pictures. That's right - a whole week of wedding porn. Happy days.
And where better to start than at the very beginning: the proposal?
Well, I suppose I could start with our less-than-auspicious beginnings in a dark and dingy bar in Glasgow University Union. Or I could begin with our first proper "date", when Fin took me to a pub for lunch and told me, "when I usually come here with girls, they have paninis". Hmm. Perhaps not.
So, let's just fast-forward eight years or so. It's my birthday, and frankly, I'm pretty sure I know what's about to go down. I wish I could pretend I was oh so shocked and surprised and hadn't an inkling, but keeping secrets is not one of Fin's strengths (this has pros and cons. Birthdays can be an exercise in faux astonishment, but at least I would know within about 2.4 seconds if he was sneaking off for some extra-marital hanky-panky). I like to think I'm fairly perceptive, but it wouldn't exactly have taken Sherlock Holmes to discern his master plan. Let's examine the evidence.
Clue number one: Excessive levels of caginess surrounding Fin's underwear drawer, which I Absolutely Must Not Look In For Any Reason. Suspicious.
Clue number two: Did I mention the going out for eight years part?
Clue number three: Unusual levels of interest in wedding- and engagement-related topics, such as what finger rings go on, etc. Curiouser and curiouser.
Clue number four: The day before my birthday, there is much talk of us going for A Walk. From Fin, from my mum, even from my dad. "Let's go for A Walk tomorrow." "Oh, so you're going for A Walk tomorrow?" "I hope it stays dry so we can go for A Walk tomorrow." To be clear, I have never expressed any interest in going for a walk, least of all on my birthday. Birthdays are for eating cake. Duh.
Clue number five: When we awake on my birthday to torrential rain, Fin is disproportionately dismayed. "Oh no! We can't go for A Walk!" At this point I'm beginning to feel more than a little sick. Oh God. Oh God. This is actually going to happen. Fuuuuuuuuck.
Clue number six: Everyone's acting all weird. This is awful. I'm trying to act normal, no big deal, I always wear this much makeup to go down the High Street, what's your problem? Fin, meanwhile, looks like he's going to throw up. I foresee some good photos later on. Not.
Clue number seven: If Fin fidgets in his pocket one more time I am going to have no alternative but to reach in there, wrench the ring out and put it on my own damn finger. I manage to restrain myself, just. "Are you ok Fin?" "Fine! I'm totally fine! I'm fine! Fine!" Uh-huh.
Clue number eight: [The torrential rain has temporarily lifted.] "Erm, do you want to just come onto the beach for a minute?" Oh God. Oh God. My handbag is stuck on the gearstick. I literally can't get out of the car. Oh God, there are balloons on the beach. Are they for me? Wait a minute, they say Happy Birthday, have I totally got the wrong end of the stick here, oh God oh God oh God.
Clue number nine: This.
The next twenty seconds are something of a blur. Neither Fin nor I has any recollection of what was said. I'm sure at one point he mumbled, "So, what do you think?". He's fairly certain that somewhere in there I said "Yes". My parents were jumping up and down and waving maniacally at us from the window (did I mention this all happened right outside my parents' house?). We retrieved some bubbly and two plastic glasses from a hiding spot in the grass, and my parents' lodger woke up at that exact moment, looked outside his window and had the wherewithal to grab his camera and snap a few shots for posterity. (Impressive stuff, usually it takes me five minutes to fully open my eyes, never mind work a camera.)
I found the whole engagement experience incredibly overwhelming, despite those eight years together; in fact, maybe more so because of those eight years. We had spent so long just being girlfriend and boyfriend - rather successfully, if I say so myself - that the prospect of turning everything on its head and launching into this completely different relationship was somewhat daunting. I think I speak for both of us when I say that, although I strongly believe that getting married to Fin was one of the best things I have done in my life, getting engaged to him was not pleasurable. It was exciting, and momentous, and life-changing, and intense - but it wasn't fun.
Now, the seven months of wedding planning that followed - that was fun...
Did anyone else feel like they were going to throw up when they got engaged? Or just us...?
*Actually I don't care, it's my blog and if I want to waffle on about weddings ad nauseum I flipping well will. Weddings weddings weddings! Ohhhh, that was good...
Top two images from You Wanna Talk Jive's awesome proposal story. Bottom two from our less-than-awesome one.
