Yesterday I mentioned that my wedding is a mere four months away. And it has become increasingly apparent to me that I do not have a long term career as a wedding planner, or indeed, any sort of planner. Despite having two years, yes, TWO YEARS to organise the thing, I’m still woefully under prepared.
The problem is, you see, that we booked the venue within a couple of months of getting engaged, without looking at anywhere else. The Star Inn at Harome is one of my favourite places to stay in the world and we have been going for my birthday every year for the past….oooh, six or seven years. When I found out that they hold weddings there, I didn’t need to see anywhere else. I love the setting, plus I knew that the meal would be absolutely top notch (if you happen to watch Great British Menu you will have seen the chef proprietor, Andrew Pern, get voted through to the final as the North East representative.) So that was all booked and sorted ages ago. And at the beginning of the year I stirred myself to arrange a registrar as well (I thought it might be a good idea), and took my bridesmaids shopping for dresses (top tip: if you’re buying high street for bridesmaids, hit the January sales. We got two absolutely gorgeous Monsoon dresses for something ridiculous like £40 apiece). And then I sort of…stopped. People would ask “How’re the wedding plans going?” and I would wave a hand airily and say, “All under control.”
The thing that most people are curious about is The Dress. And, funnily enough, that has been one of the least important aspects for me all along. As a girl who has battled with her weight since a very tender age indeed, I have never taken very much pleasure in clothes shopping (regardless, it has to be said, of whether I’ve been going through one of my rare slender phases or not). Changing rooms are, as far as I am concerned, Hell on Earth whatever size you are. The idea of going into one of those very posh wedding shops and trying on a range of sample sized gowns – which, let’s face it, were bound to be so ridiculously tiny that I’d end up with some poor woman desperately trying to squidge some delicate little bodice around my comedy boobs - was not one that appealed.
I thought I’d be quite happy to just pick something up, off the hanger, nearer the time. And then I made the mistake of Googling images in an idle moment. And I saw The Dress. It was so beautiful and so perfect and so exactly the kind of thing I wanted – even though I hadn’t even known what I’d wanted until then, that everything else just looked plain wrong. Fortunately, I think I have found a dressmaker who thinks she can recreate The Dress, and in time for September, and for an amount that will just about squeeze onto my credit card. So I guess that one more thing ticked off my non-existent list (which I really should get around to making…)