Our wedding day. Part 1 – getting ready

After all those practice sessions, this was the moment of truth for MILTB Pauline and her rollers. And it was while she did my hair that I finally did my nails. Phew.

Wow. What an amazing day.

We laughed, we cried, we danced, we cried a bit more...it was both the most emotional and without doubt the happiest day ever.

And everyone was right when they said it would whizz by. And so much happened, I'm gonna have to break the day down into chapters. Otherwise this would end up the longest blogpost on record. And you'd all be nodding off. So. Let's start with the start.

Getting ready was a bit of a blur. Although I was quite calm, mainly because I was necking large glasses of champagne I think.

While my curlers were in (thanks MILTB) the Best Girls helped me put the cakes, cheeses and pork pie out. There was a worrying moment when the cake stand wibbled and wobbled and nearly totally collapsed, but we manage to catch everything before there was a cupcake landslide.

The girls carry in the tins of cakes.

Please don't collapse...please don't collapse...please don't collapse...

All looks nice now, but by the end of the night it looked like a pack of raccoons had rampaged over it. More on that later...

Then I just had one last look at the tables to make sure everything was ok/next door's labrador hadn't eaten a flower arrangement. The teapots were holding up well.

All the tables were named after places that were special to us. Mickledon is place in the Lakes where we love to walk. (And it's got a great pub!)

The personalised napkins worked well - so well in fact they all got pinched! They turned out to be accidental favours!


Then I realised that I'd been a awake for several hours and hadn't yet cried. That was soon remedied when I cracked open some champers for me and the Best Girls and gave them their gifts. I'd filled boxes with little treats for them all - a scented candle with their initial on, a Cath Kidston mug, a little bag, a pretty photo frame, a bracelet...all sorts of goodies. I just wanted to treat them because they'd done so much for me. Even though no gift or amount of thanks could express my gratitude and love for them. And lo, the first tears of the day arrived.

I love my girls!

A girlie box of goodies

I'd personalised each box with lovehearts and napkin material, so they co-ordinated with the day.


Next it was time to beautify, titivate and put some slap on make myself look like a lady. (Well I could try, there's only so much a pot of Lancome can do eh?)

Arty shot of the dress, LK Bennetts (flat of course!) and flowers for my hair.

The dress! Squeal!

A quick munch with Toby, who is utterly confused and just wants me to play ball. I should have made him a page boy.

My beautiful Mom and legendary Step-dad Rob

Best Girl Claire helped me choose the dress, so she was on the case with helping me in it and getting my shoes on.

As Mom puts on her vintage pearls, in a last minute stroke of bad luck, the clasp broke. But Best Girl Emma stepped in to save the day by sewing the clasp together. Unless I found some scissors later, I'd be wearing them permanently.

"Mom! I'm really nervous!!"

Me and my fabulous Best Girls. From left, Emma (photographer, bunting maker, necklace mender) Me (bride, list maker, panicker) Jenny (nerve calmer, supporter and chief Hen co-ordinator) and Claire (dress assistant and general hilarity provider)

The day before the Big Day

I am sooooo excited! Look at the bar!! It's like a mini pub!!

Friday was insane.

I felt like I’d stepped through a black hole that was swallowing time. And it still seemed like there was much to do. And I still hadn't done my nails.

Firstly, the bar arrived, which was rather exciting. It looked like a proper bar! With optics and pumps and fridges and everything. We loved it! It was also one more thing to overload a socket with - we were already one plug away from a massive fire and several small explosions.

(We also named it The Three Kings - because that was the pub in London where we first met. And we made a pub sign out of a piece of slate from the Lakes, our favourite holiday place. We just wanted lots of very personal touches, and we covered a few off there I think!)

My future husband wrestles with the fairy lights, while my little brother wonders if anyone will notice if he helps himself at the bar

Then me and Mom and MILTB arranged the flowers in my teapots for the centrepieces, I realised I still hadn’t painted my nails, there was dash to the butchers for the pork pie cake (only to find it closed for lunch – inducing a minor bridezilla moment from me “what sort of shop closes for lunch in this day and age?! Don’t they know I’m getting married tomorrow!?!?”) then oh my word it was 3pm, the best men hadn’t arrived, and the rehearsal was at 4pm and I was breathing into a paper bag and oh dear lord I needed a drink.

I loved setting up the tables and I was relieved that my flowers-in-teapots idea looked OK. We'd also hired a load of gorgeous mismatched teacups to both make the tables look pretty and because I knew I'd be gasping for a brew at some point. Also there were lots of northerners coming, and they love tea don't they??

Because we had cupcakes, we had no cake to cut. And my hubby to be LOVES pies. Especially pork pies. Hence the two tier pork pie that I decorated with sage leaves and two love birds to make it more cake-like (it was delicious!!)

With outstanding timing, the best men arrived at 3.59pm and we raced up to the church for our rehearsal. You might remember me telling you that our actual vicar had a stroke, so we had a stand-in. And bless him, he seemed rather nervous. That's probably because he hadn't performed a wedding ceremony for nine years. I decided not to let this worry me - I mean how hard can it be?? (famous last words...)

The rehearsal itself was surreal. Suddenly all the faffing around with fairy lights and teapots and cake and toilets all paled into extreme insignificance, as we looked into each others eyes and practiced our vows. I started welling up, which gave a sneak preview into the state of my emotions the next day.

But there was no time for weeping and for being soppy (it wasn't on my To Do List after all). Back at the house, guests were starting to arrive in the holiday barns next door (a very convenient place for my best girls to stay!) and it was almost time for the groom to disappear, what with it being bad luck to see him the night before and all that.

And just at this point, my poor Mom burst into tears. It had all got a bit too much. Bless her, she had actually spent the last few hours trying to get me and my hubby-to-be on our own for five minutes to give us our wedding gift. She knew the day itself would be far too mental for that. But it was turning out that that the day before was possibly more mental than she'd hoped too. And now guests were arriving and people were suddenly popping up and it's no wonder she cracked really. I was on the brink myself.

I felt terrible - had we put too much on my parents? Should we have saved everyone's sanity and hired a pub/golf club/wedding planner/a Vegas chapel??? Was all this stress and socket overloading worth it!?? (and when would I ever get my nails painted?!?) My poor Mom, who's nerves could be heard jangling in Telford, assured me that it was all fine, and it had just all gotten a little crazy.

So I grabbed my man, my mom and stepfather and locked ourselves in her bedroom for 10 minutes, to take many deep breaths, blot our leaky eyes and shut the marquee madness out for a short while. And then they gave us the most wonderful, unique gift...it's hard to describe and my description will fail to do it justice, but it was this amazing twisted and curled piece of iron, made into a stunning candle holder by the blacksmith son of the posh Kennedy clan who live nearby. (the ones who own most of the land and like to go shooting and that - I think I've mentioned them before in a previous post). It's just so unique, so very 'us' and most importantly made in Muckley where we were marrying. What a lovely, thoughtful idea. I cried a bit. Again.

At this point, I was quite enjoying the sanctuary of Mom's bedroom and I think we were all reluctant to leave. But the time had come for my fiance to go, before he turned into a pumpkin. Or hit the bottle. Or ate some valium. Whichever came first.

I had a small cry (surely there was no fluid left in my tear ducts by now??) and he looked a bit nervous, but I think he was secretly relieved to be whisked away with the lads - I was still brandishing my Book of Lists like some sort of lethal weapon. He was probably wondering what on earth he was marrying, poor bloke.

By now I was in desperate need of a drink. And with brilliant timing, my Best Girls all seemed to arrive at once, along with their blokes and a few other friends, and I realised that finally, FINALLY, it was possibly time to stop, put the bloody Book of Lists down and have a little celebration with them all.

Bless my mates and their hubbies - they all turned up, marched into the marquee and immediately started putting bunting up!

There was a discussion going on here about whether to cut the bunting or string it up in one - and they did it in one. To this day I have no idea how.

Check out Emma's bloke Jonathan, who had come straight from a work meeting in Manchester, and was spending his friday evening wrangling with fabric triangles and a ladder

I had promised them all nibbles, and once again, in my head I had imagined myself being the serene, glowing hostess with the mostess, effortlessly producing a selection of beautifully prepared dishes of nibbles, pizza slices and glasses of ice cold white wine to refresh them all after their travels.

In reality, I couldn't be arsed. I just tipped a sainsbury's carrier bag full of food upside down on a table in the marquee, frisbeed in a few half cooked pizzas and told them to sort themselves out, vaguely pointing in the direction of the kitchen if they needed plates.

Thankfully, When you have friends as good as mine, you can get away with that kind of appalling behaviour.

Note the way the pile of food has just been dumped on the table - and they are still smiling! (and by the way - how good is the bar!?! I'll shut up about that now.)

And bless them, they didn't seem to care about my slutty serving skills. They simply busied themselves helping Best Girl Emma stick up the bunting that she'd carefully crafted for us (out of her nans nightie amongst other things it transpired). Her partner Jonathan spent a good hour up a step ladder, still in his work clothes, while I flopped down on the nearest chair to watch and drink pinot grigio straight from the bottle.

Note best Girl Jenny in the background eating pizza AND assisting with bunting.

Wow. Is the marquee finally complete? Let me just check my book of lists...and breathe...

It was 10pm. I had set all the tables. I was slightly pissed. (look at me - if there was sound on this blog you would hear my maniacal/delirious laughter.) It was time for some beauty sleep...tomorrow was gonna be big!

The Thursday before the Big Day

On the Thursday morning, me and Mom were on a production line of cupcake making, Mom churning out the sponge, me whipping up obscene amounts of butter icing and wrestling with a piping bag. In between coating Moms kitchen in icing sugar and covering every possible surface in cakes and sugared flowers, I was shouting instructions at anyone who was passing through (mainly my poor Mother in Law To Be) to tackle a job from any of the lists in my Big Book of Lists.

Me and my Mom, masters of the cupcake! See all those sweetie tins? Stuffed full of cupcakes!

Oh my word I want to eat one!

I really want to open a cake shop.

I loved those little wrappers! Aren't they sweet!

Then the toilets arrived. This was a highlight. (I bet there aren’t many brides who have said that about their wedding preparations.) But you see, there had been a lot of discussion about the toilets in the planning. Should we get loos? Would they be an eyesore? Where would they go?? Again, we shouldn’t have worried. They were tiny, immaculate and slotted very neatly and discreetly up a corner.

They were probably better than my own bathroom in fact.

Sighs of relief all round. I think I had a small weep of joy too. Hilariously, my step-father noticed they were from a company called Wrekin Toilets. “I hope they’re not reekin’ toilets!” he quipped. Oh how we chortled – it seemed delirium and it's cousin insanity had finally arrived.

Little brother Josh seems very excited about the new facilities.

You do not want to see the picture that was taken after this one...

The Wednesday before the Big Day

We are back from honeymoon! And what an amazing time we've had - apologies for the neglect of the blog (I think I had a good excuse though eh?) but now that I am back, I will write up all the details of our wonderful wedding day. It really was so special – and it turns out there is quite a lot to write. So I'll do it in chapters so I don't bore you all to tear with one jumbo post.

So. Let's start at the beginning...

Leaving work on Tuesday to begin the build up to our wedding, was the best feeling ever. I was so excited and in my head, I had a imagined a relaxing three whole days to gently prepare and unwind, add touches to the marquee, quaff champagne, take a whole day to paint my nails, maybe every now and then taking a calming walk in the fields, hand in hand with my future husband, or perhaps sit at a writing desk, in the manner of a Jane Austen character, to make diary notes, sighing with contentment, as my suppliers made the final preparations and generally enjoy being a calm sophisticated lady.

I don’t know what I was thinking.

The reality was a frantic, hyperventilating, dishevelled, swearing, weepy, harridon, marching around Muckley with a Big Book Of Lists, desperately hoping I could tick something, anything, off. And my poor husband to be wasn’t much better. Or my parents. In fact, it was chaos.

The marquee was erected in the garden on the Wednesday, which was lucky, because we could see what was needed to decorate it. And also somehow it took a lot longer than we’d ever guessed to stick up the fairy lights, assemble the PA system, arrange tables, make a mad dash to B&Q for some softer lighting cos the main lights were like something from a football pitch and wrestle with 20 paper lanterns and a set of stepladders.

What was a huge relief was discovering much space we had. For months I’d been sweating about fitting everyone in, hoping it wouldn’t end up like a District Line carriage at rush hour. But there was bags of room for dancing and dining. (And, it turned out, high kicks, forward rolls, press ups and a Pan’s People style dance routine involving all the hens. But that’s another story)

Thank the lord there's room for both the pig and lots of dancing!

Four more sleeps

Lou wishes she'd taken her wedding diet a bit more seriously

Today is my final day at work before we get married. SQUEAL!

This evening we head off to the 'Shire to prepare for our Big Day. And what a surreal feeling it all is. I can't believe we have reached this point, it always felt like it was a million miles away. And now it's here.

It's hard to describe how I feel - rather like a big pile of nerves and excitement all bundled into a butterfly farm in my tummy. It's just such a big milestone, a mammoth turning point in life. But it's all so lovely too. I can't wait to see all our favourite people, and most of all I can't wait to call my fiance my husband. Oh god, I'm filling up!!

Last night was a massive packing frenzy - we each had to pack twice. Once for the run up to The Big Day and second for our honeymoon. How I have managed to pack three weeks worth of clothing into a rucksack is still beyond nothing short of a miracle. But there's something quite nice about being super-strict and only taking the bare minimum. Something I have never been able to do in the my entire history of packing for trips. I can't even go to work without taking a jumbo rucksack full of stuff I never use or need.

Tomorrow the marquee arrives - I can't wait to see that go up. I have never been truly able to properly picture how on earth we'd fit 50 people in a tent on Mom's garden. (Despite the marquee man reassuring us it would definitely hold 100.) So I hope that all works out ok.

And in between getting all jittery, making lists and having anxiety dreams (the one about the goth/vampire party in the toilets next to the tent was more than bizarre. Not sure what that says about my subconscious? And the one with the see-through wedding dress was a worry. Note to self: double check no-one can see my knickers) I've been fannying about trying to work out a little speech.

Now I don't want to ramble on, as I am sure no-one wants their toes to curl in their nice new wedding shoes as I reduce to a blubbering emotional wreck and declare my love to everyone. Which could happen if I have too much champers. I just want to say a little tiny thank you, because throughout the planning, I've been utterly blow away by how supportive and helpful everyone has been and how people have bent over backwards to help.

If it wasn't for many of the favours we'd pulled in, we'd be huddled around our four man tent with a family bag of kettle chips and a bumper pack of sausage rolls.

Finally, I've been saying all along that I don't care what the weather does, but its been glorious for weeks on end this last few months, and it's spoilt me. I'd love it if the sun shone on the day. But hey, there's nothing I can do, it can't be controlled. And anyway, it's an excuse to wear my wellies if it rains.

So I might try and hop back on here with a quick update if I get a mo. But my Fiance and I will be up to my armpits in fairy lights, fairy cakes, teapots and bunting for the next three days I imagine. And Mom's internet connection is a bit dodgy, rather like when the internet was first invented and you have to watch the screen loading for 30 minutes before you could do anything. I think it's powered by hamsters.

So if you don't see me...I'll be back in three and a half weeks with a FULL report! Wooooooooo!!!

Can someone call Richard Curtis?

I can’t quite believe it. Of all the things I have been fretting about, like freak weather conditions blowing the marquee away, concerns about my dress fitting my ever-expanding backside, incidents with cow muck/a chicken/toilets, I didn’t anticipate this one:

Our vicar has had a stroke.

Fortunately it was mild, but the poor bloke is in hospital and under strict orders to stay there. So he can’t do our wedding.

When my fiance broke the news I thought it was all over. But before I launched headfirst into my first wedding meltdown and took deep breaths into a paper bag, he said there was a stand-in – the vicar who read our Banns. Massive sigh of relief.

But it's a shame, because Reverend Patterson has been on the entire wedding planning journey with us, and we've grown quite attached to his placcy bag collection and shoddy memory. The stress of wondering whether he’ll actually remember our names or even know what day to turn up has all been part of the rollercoaster of emotion that has come hand in hand with our organising.

But his understudy, Reverend Deakin is a really nice bloke and he did a lovely job of reading our Banns. And the good news is, he also looks like a sitcom vicar. Hooray.

I just hope nothing happens to him in the next six days - after all he is well into 80s. I guess I’d just have to wheel Rev Patterson in on his sickbed, maybe decorate his drip stand with flowers.

Anyway, I shouldn’t worry, we're in the countryside - you can’t go more than six feet with bumping into a vicar, they're everywhere.

Failing that I'll give Rowan Atkinson a ring. He'd be great in our sitcom at our wedding.

Big sack of poo anyone?

I might enter Josh into the Apprentice (he'd probably do a better job then some of the idiots on there)

So my little brother Josh, who is our Usher, is becoming something of an entrepeneur lately.

He recently bought 200 spanners for £40 at an auction by mistake (he got carried away with the nodding, winking and waving) and is already doing his best to sell them off on at a time, with a view to making a profit. Whether he will or not is another matter entirely, but the thinking is there.

And his latest venture appears to be horse manure. To make a bit of pocket money, he cleans out the stables at the farm over the road, and the owners very kindly said he could collect any manure he shovelled.

Then he cottoned on to the fact that there will be lots of people around his house in just a few day time. He has a captive (and slightly drunk)audience.

Last time I checked, he'd already gone on Facebook to offer one of my Best Girls a bag of manure for a fiver.

I bet there aren't many brides who can say there wedding day included a big turd sale. And as one of my friends pointed out, at least he's making sure we get our money's worth out of the marquee.

"I'd like to thank the bridesmaids, the best men and oh, would anyone like a big bag of shite?"