The first bit of planning

Things we knew didn’t want for our wedding:
A big, complicated fuss.
Huge expense.
Matchy matchy gubbins.
Or bridesmaids in matching frocks.
(I hate the word bridesmaid - for me it conjures up images of frothy peach puffballs and cheesy photos)
People attending that we wish weren’t attending.
A massive wedding frock.
An impersonal reception.
Stress.
Anything in London.
The Grease megamix/Oops upside your head/Venga boys on the DJ playlist.
Formalities.
Dance lessons.

What we did want:
A lovely ceremony and our favourite people all together and a party. With lots of dancing. (The kind that doesn't require lessons.)

Simple really.

Luckily, we had the perfect set up right under our noses. My Mom is lucky enough to live on a country lane in the heart of scenic Shropshire, just minutes away from two historic market towns. Her house is sandwiched between a couple of farms, surrounded by fields, cows, sheeps and a few pigs. The heady scent of manure is constantly in the air and the gentle putt-putt of a tractor is occasionally punctuated by a cockerel's raucous crowing. There are chickens running around in her large and very beautiful garden, where my step-father grows his own tomatoes, beans, rhubarb and herbs. A ten minute walk up the lane, past a field of horses, leads you to a very small, very old, but very pretty church. And just next door to that church lives a man who runs his own business supplying marquees and hog roasts. It's perfect. And I think of it as a good omen that everything has just slotted into place so wonderfully.

So that's that sorted then. (And that's also why we may need wellies.)