Mother of the bride

Migration

2011-01-07T03:24:00.000-08:00

In case anyone was wondering, I've migrated to my alter ego blog Life in the London Suburbs (lifeinthelondonsuburbs.blogspot.com).
You can click through, should you wish, via the list on the right.

How Far Will They Go?

2010-10-14T05:34:00.000-07:00

If you find yourself appalled (or enthralled) by the vulgarity of modern weddings I must recommend a new tv series The Wedding House.
The Wedding House is, in fact, the listed 17th century Sundridge Park Manor in Bromley. It looks quite posh* and the hotel management team sounds enthusiastic about the series. They say:

In the programme, the experienced Wedding House team of experts allow loved up couples to live out their wildest wedding fantasy, unique vows, and perfect special day. Having outlined their wish list for the day, they hand over all responsibility to the Wedding House team and all that remains for them to bring is their love for each other.
The eight-part TV series plays host to 32 couples participating in elaborately themed marriages, civil partnerships, renewal of marriage vows and commitment ceremonies…

Elaborately themed is an understatement. In this week's episode two lesbians had a Tudor style civil partnership. One of them was dressed to looked rather like Henry V111 – not a good omen, I feel, given the number of wives he had.
An older couple renewing their vows wanted a fetish theme. The registrar was understandably nervous.
Tune in and prepare to have your gast flabbered.

*www.sundridgeparkmanor.com (still can’t do links)

Veils and vitriol

2010-05-04T07:01:00.000-07:00

Lucy Mangan sounds like a woman after my own heart. Like me, she never really fancied the idea of getting married but found herself saying yes instead of no when asked (in both cases, it would have been churlish to refuse after all the efforts the would-be groom had gone to).
Like me she knows how to use all of life’s rich tapestry (shamelessly) as journalistic fodder. And how to plug her books by selling features based on them.
Like me – I hope – she can raise a smile or two in the process.
And that’s why I think it will be worth getting hold of a copy of The Reluctant Bride, despite all the sour comments on the Mail and Guardian websites.
See for yourself here: www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1271558/How-reluctant-bride-fell-love-marriage.html

Last straw

2010-04-19T05:21:00.000-07:00

So ... one stepson plus wife, kids and his father-in-law are stuck in our place in Spain.
My oncologist has rescheduled as she's stuck in Madrid.
But now - and it's worst of all - Peter the man who runs the ironing service is stuck in Hong Kong. At the end of a three-week holiday.
Need I say more?

Costa Brava

2010-03-10T08:24:00.000-08:00

People sometimes ask me why we don't go to our place in Spain at this time of year. This is why. It's not called the Costa Brava for nothing.

The sun has got his hat on (because it's snowing again)

2010-02-20T08:31:00.000-08:00

No wonder the English have a reputation for talking about the weather. Ten minutes ago I was planting out primroses under a blue sky and now there’s a flurry of snow. And don’t get me started on weather forecasters. I am almost inclined to rely on the gizmo that belongs to my husband and sits on the kitchen windowsill … only when I looked down after spotting the snow I saw it was predicting sun.

snow joke

2010-01-13T01:49:00.001-08:00

Enough snow already. Although some things have been fun

Right said Fred

2009-09-26T02:36:00.000-07:00

I am writing this post to escape from the activity downstairs. The son and the husband are moving large sofas from one room to another. The decorators are coming on Monday.
When we moved in to this house almost 28 years ago (or at least, when the husband moved in – I was still on the post-natal ward) we slowly painted and papered until we got the house the way we wanted.
Some of the rooms have had several make-overs since then. The room I am typing in (now known as my study) was once wallpapered with racing cars and motorbikes.
The room we planned to have made over this time was what we call the dining room. We used to hold dinner parties there but over the years we seem to have gravitated to the kitchen table when we have friends round.
I suppose we could refer to it as the music room, since there is a piano in there. But only the son plays it – and only at Christmas. I suppose what it is now is a spare sitting/tv/games room, mostly used by young people when they would rather not talk to us or watch whatever it is we are watching elsewhere.
Anyway, my husband decorated this room at least 25 years ago, lovingly picking out the cornices in a contrasting colour and carefully matching the very large repeat Chinese style wall paper.
This was so long ago that the wallpaper has come back into fashion, I think, but there’s no denying that it has got rather tatty and it’s time to start all over again. The husband has got a little too long in the tooth for all that kind of thing now (his relationship with ladders has always been a bit up and down) so that is why we booked the decorators.
Only now I have been persuaded that the room we spend far more time should be the one to receive their care and attention. Hence the sofa removal.
I’d like to say sofa so good, but from what I can hear it’s not going well….

Hat and Feathers

2009-09-24T02:02:00.001-07:00

The invitation on the mantelpiece isn’t to a wedding but a 60th birthday party. The venue is the Hat and Feathers – and so is the theme. I have no idea what to wear but I doubt it will be a hat. I didn’t even wear a hat to the daughter’s wedding.
And speaking of hats and weddings ….

The last book club meeting was hosted by one of the two soon-to-be mothers of a bride. So soon, in fact, that the wedding was taking place a mere three days after we met to pull Dave Boling’s novel Guernica apart.
Those of us whose heads weren’t full of timetables, manicures, providing lunch for the bridesmaids (it’s a late afternoon affair) and so on were astounded that anyone whose head was could still a) entertain and b) think about books.
But the most astounding thing of all – to me, at any rate – was to learn that as the mother of bride was, in a very short space of time, to fly halfway round the world to become a mother of a groom, she was planning to Fedex her very expensive wedding hat to Australia.

Love Ewe

2009-08-10T03:17:00.000-07:00

Loved the story about Louise the sheep breeder who used the wool from one of Lincoln Longwools to make her wedding dress. She also carried a Bo-Peep crook rather than a bouquet and found sheep-shaped chocolate favours for her guests. You can read the full details on the Mail or Telegraph websites.

Rain, rain go away

2009-07-20T05:22:00.000-07:00

Back from a week in Wales. Now I remember why those first package holidays were so wonderful. Sunshine. And paella.
In Wales we had a meal in one of the ubiquitous Farmers' Arms pubs that was memorable for all the wrong reasons - the chef had decided to serve the (burnt) crab cakes with a dollop of coleslaw and some very vinegary beetroot, on top of two old large lettuce leaves. Then s/he added a slice of orange and a slice of kiwi fruit. In my head I could hear Gordon Ramsey shouting four letter words.
The new potatoes were fine but I think that was enough staycationing for a while. Did I mention we had five and a half days of rain?

The long haul wedding

2009-07-09T08:36:00.000-07:00

If you’re a MOTB – past or present – then you’ll be no stranger to the way in which weddings have changed since the days when your generation tied the knot.
As Imogen Edward-Jones (co-author of a book* I keep meaning to read) observes in the Times today: ‘What used to be a nice glass of champagne and a slice of cake in the village hall, with all the guests getting home at 6pm has morphed into an epic event.’
Or, as psychologist Oliver James puts it: ‘It’s like going on some long-haul flight. It starts at lunch and finishes somewhere after midnight.’
A former uni classmate of mine, Bel Mooney, is also writing about weddings today – this time in the Mail.
Her daughter is getting married and – unlike her mum who toddled off to the register office virtually between lectures with the minimum of fuss and bother – Kitty wants the big white deal.
Looking back I realise we were lucky that while our only daughter wanted a special day, she wanted one that was special for reasons that had nothing to do with extravagance or showiness. And we were probably lucky, too, that she didn’t have months and months to plan and dream and read all those wedding magazines.
So why do so many young women get carried away with planning their marathon weddings?
Edward-Jomes suggests it’s because a generation of women has grown up with the I’m Worth It syndrome, in a society that celebrates the cult of celebrity where we all want our five minutes of stardom.
James says its because ‘little girls have been infected with a pink princess culture’.
Either way, I can’t help feeling it’s all got out of hand.

*Wedding Babylon

Four weddings and a catfight (with thanks to the Daily Mail sub who wrote this headline)

2009-07-06T00:41:00.001-07:00

There’s a new show on tv tonight all about weddings. But I don’t think I’ll be tuning in. It appears to be to be based on the worst side of human nature – whereas I prefer to think of weddings as happy, joyous occasions that can bring out the best in us. (I know, sentimental old fool).

Anyway, the format is that four brides go to each other’s ‘perfect day’ – and afterwards are encouraged to tell us what they thought, no holds barred.

No weddings for us at present (although my thoughts are with other MOTBs who are in the final countdown) but we did see a painting of a wedding on Saturday when we went to the Futurist exhibition at Tate Modern.

It’s by Leger and I probably wouldn’t have realised it was a wedding unless I’d read the info (incidentally, why can’t galleries use larger print when they do those captions they stick on the wall – it’s not just my generation that has to get really close to read them).

Interestingly, the acerbic exchange of opinions between Futurists, Cubists, Surrealists and all the other – ists of the art world leaves most of today’s reality tv backstabbers in the shade.

Too busy to blog

2009-06-09T00:57:00.000-07:00

We’ve been to Java, Bali and Lombok via the giant mall that is Singapore.
We played pass the babies at Luton airport so their parents could go to a wedding one weekend.
We visited friends who have moved to East Sussex and spotted a partridge, a green woodpecker and signs of badgers.
And now I’m on jury service (so far one not guilty – although we would have liked to be able to say not proven – and two changed pleas to guilty at last minute).
Why is it that people I know have never been called for jury service, while I’ve done it twice and husband has done it three times, despite being self employed and having to work in the evenings to catch up? Surely they can’t all have form or be too apolitical to put themselves on the electoral register?
And shouldn’t there be some rough and ready English language comprehension tests for jurors?
But this pic cheered me up.

Feel the Force

2009-05-07T03:13:00.000-07:00

The wedding season appears to be in full swing. After reading about the Shrek nuptials I spotted pictures of a Star Wars wedding that took place between a Hans Solo and a Princess Leia on the Isle of Wight.

This time the teenage lad who was involved in the proceedings was the groom’s 18-year-old son and best man.
Keiran deserves special recognition in the Wedding Day Hall of Fame. He supported his Dad all the way - dressed up as Chewbacca.

And now, in other news:
The front of the house is being painted – so I am working on the dining room table instead of my study.
Baby Bea can now roll over.
Big Brother now speaks.
We enjoyed the film State of Play (which is surprising since we’re normally very critical of films featuring journalists).
My ankle still pains me five weeks after I fell on the stairs at the Hawley Arms (the Amy Winehouse effect).
We are making exciting holiday plans. I’m not telling what or where, except to say it won’t be Skiathos even if they are experiencing a boom in weddings there this year.
That’s the Mama Mia effect.

Happy Ogre After

2009-04-28T02:11:00.000-07:00

I knew you could have Shrek wedding cakes (this one was made by Boogiebabys of Rochester, Kent) but it never occurred to me that anyone would take the theme to its ultimate expression and get married as Shrek and Princess Fiona.
Raise a glass, however, to Christine England and Keith Green, the 40-somethings from Barnstable who did just that last week.
The story made the nationals – and the line I liked best was the one about Christine’s 16-year-old son who refused to dress up as Donkey for the day.
That’s my wedding thought of the day. Now I shall waffle.
The house seems strangely quiet as the clan has returned to Scotland leaving behind: two car seats; one buggy; two travel cots and bedding; four muslins; a change mat; assorted vests and socks; two bibs; a sandpit; a slide; two boxes of toys, bricks and books; two half empty packs of disposable nappies (size 3 and 5); two tubes of Metanium; a pack of baby wipes; an Annabel Karmel concoction in the freezer plus two small portions of my home-made spag bol sauce; a clip on to the table toddler seat; a lie back and bounce baby chair; a travel steriliser; a baby alarm and a gap in my life.
They return next month for a wedding and we will be babysitting for 48 hours. Can’t wait.

Bride in waiting

2009-03-30T06:18:00.000-07:00

The baby who arrived on Christmas Eve is growing almost visibly. She's three months already - I'm sure time is speeding up. This is the kind of picture someone (naming no names) is bound to produce when she celebrates her 18th birthday. Or gets married.

And, no, it isn't a potty. Even I didn't start sitting my children on a potty at the age of three months. It's a new fangled gizmo that sits them up. I think it may be called a Bumbo.

She doesn't always look so serious.

Wittering

2009-03-12T03:25:00.001-07:00

My husband says all I do on this blog now is witter. (At least I don’t Twitter.)
Anyway, I do sometimes witter about weddings, and daughters who once were brides, and what it’s like being the mother of one, not to mention a wife.
Last Saturday the husband and I walked from Archway to Islington. That may not sound far to North Londoners who walk, but it certainly felt far enough for me. The walking is part of his plan to get me fit.
On the way we passed Islington town hall. A group of smartly dressed people were gathered outside.
Must be a wedding, observed the husband. I said nothing. I find it hard to walk (at his pace) and talk.
A few minutes later we saw, coming towards us, a man in a suit and a woman wearing a smart dress and a hat, hurrying along the uneven pavements. They were clearly wedding guests – and just as clearly running late.
A little further on we encountered another couple. Also hurrying. It seemed likely that they had arrived by tube and decided to walk from the Angel.
It doesn’t look far on the A-Z. And it’s certainly not as far as Archway to Islington.
But I wouldn’t like to try it at pace in four-inch heels.

Jade

2009-02-23T09:53:00.000-08:00

The wedding in the news this week is Jade's. I don't think I can add anything to the piece Justine Picardie wrote in the Times. I think everyone should read it.
It's here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/health/article5779740.ece>

Under the table

2009-02-16T08:11:00.000-08:00

Despite my hard-drinking Fleet Street past I don't think I've ever actually ended up in this position. But the new grandchild seems to like it and she's out of harm's way there. (Big brother is now walking, but a bit unsteady on his pins when he's tired.)

Happy Surprise

2009-01-28T05:23:00.001-08:00

As anyone interested enough to backtrack through the archives may recall, tomorrow is both my birthday and my wedding anniversary.

This time we are not going to lunch. We are going to dinner. Yet again, I don’t know where.

I’m sure it will be a lovely surprise. But you’d think after 24 years my dearly beloved would know I’m not that keen on surprises (control freak that I am). Apart from anything else, I don’t have a clue what to wear.

OR ?????

Star Struck

2009-01-20T06:57:00.001-08:00

Husband is back home from his consultancy work in Kerala and feeling the cold. We decide to prolong the Indian flavour of life a little by going to our local cinema to see the film Slumdog Millionaire. When I check the times online I note that Bride Wars is also showing.

In the interests of research for this blog I feel I should suggest seeing this instead but I can guess what the response would be. So all I can tell you is that plot is as follows:

Two best friends have dreamt of their fairytale wedding since they were 10 years old. Now, the big day has finally arrived and they find themselves in a fight. Their weddings have been double booked at the same venue and they must go the extra mile to try to stop their ‘best’ friend’s special day.

By coincidence, another film about weddings appears to be coming soon. This one is called Rachel Getting Married.

It’s Rachel’s wedding day and family and friends are gathered for a weekend of celebration. Then Rachel’s sister Kym arrives, bringing crisis and conflict that ensure the celebrations don’t go according to plan.

So far, so normal, I’d say. The only odd thing is the fact that the actress Anne Hathaway is starring in this film, too.

Connecting

2009-01-15T05:29:00.000-08:00

Many moons ago in the days when we had typewriters and phone boxes instead of laptops and iPhones, people wrote each other love letters. By hand.
My yet-to-be husband was one of them and I still have a cache in a tin box in a cupboard somewhere.
These days, when we are apart, he emails or texts. Or, worse still, insists on Skypeing.
I have always been a bit of a Luddite, but I cannot take this seriously.
It’s a bit creepy being able to see my beloved sitting in his hotel room thousands of miles away, looking oddly yellow, his mouth moving out of synch with the words coming out of my speakers.
Unnerved by the sight of my head in the box in the left-hand corner of my screen, I’m unable to resist pulling faces and bobbing down out of sight.
I am relieved when the message flashes up: connection lost.
In more ways than one, I think.

Much Ado

2008-12-26T02:11:00.000-08:00

New baby Bea made her arrival on Christmas Eve afternoon just before three. Bless. The very special delivery weighed 8lbs 3oz and the daughter is feeling fine.

Christmas Present

2008-12-24T05:36:00.000-08:00

It's Christmas Eve. The presents are wrapped and under the tree. The turkey is in the fridge. I will peel the potatoes and carrots later ... but for now I am hanging by the phone waiting for news.
The daughter who was the bride who inspired this blog is having a baby. Probably today. The birth pool has been filled. The midwives have arrived. The TENS machine hasn't given up the ghost yet.
And all those of us miles away can do is wait, hope and pray.
(And stick a bottle of bubbly on ice.)

Gee Whizz

2008-12-10T09:27:00.000-08:00

I may only post intermittently but I regularly check out my favourite bloggers. Some are more prolific than others – and some write something every day (which certainly puts me to shame). Today Z (http://razorbladeoflife.blogspot.com) wrote about ten things she loves that begin with the letter R. She also invited her readers to take part in the exercise. It goes like this.

You are given a letter. You think of 10 things you love that start with this letter. You explain your choices on your blog. Then anyone who comments can also ask for a letter and so it goes on …

My letter is G. So – 10 things I love that begin with a G

1. Garibaldi biscuits. As children we called them dead fly biscuits. They are not too calorific and I can always kid myself that they might even count towards my five-a-day.

2. Garnets. My birthstones. I never exactly got engaged but, long before we married, the man who is now my husband bought me an antique gold ring with five garnets in a claw setting. I don’t wear it as often as I’d like because it tends to catch on things and if I don’t take it off to wash my hands, the soap clogs up the claws. But I still love it.

3. Grannydom. I didn’t think becoming a grandmother would make much difference to me. I have never been a cootchy-coo, baby-mad kind of woman. I used to say I preferred infants once they could walk and talk. But although my first grandson is (as yet) doing neither, I am besotted. And I don’t mind how many times I have to read Elephant Wellyphant to him.

4. Guinness. With or without added brandy or champagne.

5. Geraniums in pots (and I know they are properly called pelargoniums, because my mother, God bless her, would always correct me). We always have lots in the garden, but they never look quite as splendid as the ones you see in planters and window boxes in France.

6. Georgette Heyer. If I’m feeling really ropey I’ll take to my bed and re-read one after another of my teenage favourites. Faro’s Daughter, Black Sheep, Charity Girl – all full of delights such as this (not to mention the proper use of the colon) “I started in the petticoat line at Eton: that’s why they expelled me.” And where else do you come across words like fribble or coxcomb these days?

7. Girona airport. In that it is the gateway to our Catalan bolthole near Sa Tuna on the Costa Brava.

8. Guy Fawkes Night. Bonfires, fireworks (probably rain – but that’s OK unless it’s a total washout) bangers and beer. Much more fun than all that imported trick or treating nonsense.

9. Gaudi: Parc Guell, La Pedrera. La Sagrada Familia …. need I say more

10. G my son. Even when he is infuriatingly wrong - and when he is even more infuriatingly right.

PS Just asked husband for his 10
H said: G (the son); the Gunners (Arsenal); G-strings; G-spots; Geography: Gastronomy; Guitars; Goodness; God; Gym Girls Naked (I didn't dare ask!)

Virtual weddings

2008-11-17T08:35:00.000-08:00

You’ve probably read about the wife who sued for divorce after she caught her husband’s avatar cheating in Second Life.

If not, all the details can be found online (you could try www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2008/nov/13/second-life-divorce
for example).

What interested me was not the cheating/divorce part of the story – a love rat is a love rat no matter where he operates – but the idea of having a virtual wedding as well as a real one. It struck me that in these belt-tightening times, it would be a perfect way to indulge your wildest dreams without breaking the bank.

You could arrive at the church/woodlandgrove/funfair in a vintage Bentley/winged chariot/customised Harley Davidson, dressed in head to toe Szarovski crystals/leather and black lace/nothing at all.

You could invite whoever you liked without worrying about upsetting family or friends. You could pick a venue and a menu for the wedding feast that wouldn’t involve snooty caterers. And so on.

At least, I assume that’s how it works. Anyone know different?

Oh - and this is not a picture of the love-rat's wedding on Second Life. It's Laurelyne Laville getting married to the wonderful Del Hotaling.

The Far Pavilion

2008-10-31T07:37:00.000-07:00

It’s nice that weddings are for the young at heart as well as the young.
Last week the neighbours who have lived two houses away from us for the past twenty-odd years tied the knot. (Their semi is almost exactly the same as ours, given that the two pairs of houses were built by the same builder in 1911, but that’s another story.)
The ceremony took place at the Ladies Pavilion in Central Park, the witnesses were their two grown-up children and, according to the groom, ‘the rest of the congregation comprised a variety of ducks and some basking turtles.’
Afterwards they all (bar the wildlife) went for lunch in the Union Square Café and then spent the evening at the Blue Note Jazz Club listening to the Dizzy Gillespie All Stars.
It sounds wonderful – and so much classier than tying the knot in Las Vegas.
The Ladies Pavilion looks very romantic but has had a rather chequered history.
It was originally a shelter for people waiting for the trolley at 8th Avenue and 59th Street and was moved from its original location to Hernshead around 1912, probably to clear the way for the construction of the Maine Monument.
By the late 1960s – perhaps around the time our happy couple met – the pavilion had fallen into a state of severe disrepair. In 1971 vandals knocked down what was left of it and the bits that could be salvaged were kept in storage until funds were found for reconstruction. The opening ceremony took place on October 30, 1973.

Candid camera

2008-10-04T06:04:00.000-07:00

On rainy days I cheer myself up by checking out the weather on two beaches near our place in Catalonia. If it's sunny - even at this time of year - there will be people sunbathing or paddling in the sea. Just as there are today.

I bet most of them have no idea that they can be seen by anyone who logs on to http://www.tamariu.eu/webcam.php.

I expect I will visit one or both of the beaches when I'm out in Spain next week and, as usual, I won't be able to resist the temptation to wave in the general direction of where the webcams must be.

It's a jungle out there

2008-10-01T05:32:00.000-07:00

A whole month has flown by since the last post. Partly because I’ve been busy, busy, busy – but also because I was feeling ever so slightly inhibited.
My own fault, of course. I tend to assume no-one reads what I write – not on this blog, anyway. But it seems they do.
So … I’ve been to a wedding, but I am not going to post anything about it other than to say it all went wonderfully well and that mother of the bride (and her husband) deserve a pat on the back for a job well done.
I don’t think any more invitations are in the offing - not because people think I might blog about their impending nuptials but because no one I know, young or old, appears likely to take the plunge into matrimony in the near future.
My diary isn’t completely empty, however. I’m going to a speed-hacking evening (a cross between speed-dating and journalism training). A firm I freelance for occasionally is having a birthday party at Ronnie Scott’s. There’s the press club ball with the dinosaurs (real ones, not just old journos) and a girlie trip to Spain with one of my best mates in the hope of catching some sunshine before we batten down the hatches for winter.

Wedding dress day

2008-08-27T03:44:00.000-07:00

The magazine I write for is full of wedding stories at the moment. I suppose it's that time of year.
There's a feature based on a study that claims one in four weddings ends with a friendship in tatters. There's the tale of the bride whose wedding dress measured thirty-five and a half feet around the hem, was covered in Swarovski crystals and weighed 28 stone. And there's a reminder that tomorrow is Wedding Dress Day.
The idea is to dig out your wedding dress and wear it to work (or whatever) raising money in aid of charity. I didn't have a wedding dress as such. My outfit was a natty mid-80s polka dot dress with big shoulders, so I am in no hurry to resurrect it, even if I could still get it over my hips (which I doubt).
But if anyone out there is interested, you'll find more details on www.weddingdressday.co.uk
PS: Memo to self - relearn how to do click through links

Physic and pipes

2008-08-15T01:57:00.000-07:00

Wedding news as follows:
*We have been upgraded on my old friend’s daughter’s guest list. That is to say, we weren’t on it at all to begin with (because the young couple wanted mostly their friends), now we are on the reception list. I’m not entirely clear as to what has been going on behind the scenes – the usual horse-trading, I expect - but the event will require stamina. It kicks off at 2.30pm and the invitation says carriages are at midnight. However, I expect this is code for: oldies welcome for the sit-down meal, but also welcome to make yourself scarce when the music and dancing starts. And young people please note that the neighbours will complain if the noise goes on too late.
I also detect a certain undercurrent of family politics in this note on the back of the enclosed directions. It reads: Please let us know if you’d like to bring your children so we can be prepared. Be aware that the garden opens onto both a canal and river so please don’t let them wander round the garden unsupervised. There will be a nappy changing area available. Translation? Babies ok, but if you have anything walking and talking, don’t bring it. And if you do, don’t expect us to do CPR.

*I had a lovely day out yesterday (a treat masquerading as work) which included an Indian head massage, a Bach flower remedy consultation, lunch in the courtyard of the Wallace Collection (nice food, dreadfully bossy waiter) and a trip to the Chelsea Physic Garden. The heavens opened as we arrived so we drove round the block once by which time the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Despite the dampness it was enchanting and I intend to return. En route a colleague told me she was soon off to a weekend wedding in Poland. At first I thought she meant she was going to Poland for the weekend for a wedding, but she says that the wedding itself will last all weekend. So she will need even more stamina than me.
She also said the detailed programme of events she’d been sent, indicating what would happen when, mentioned drinking vodka quite a lot. The English set of parents are now fretting that there won’t be any champagne at all – and that the English friends and relations won’t feel it’s a proper wedding.

Family news:
*Daughter, husband and baby now in Scotland. The baby has more teeth and is cruising round furniture. I will have to stop calling him the baby – especially as baby no.2 is on the way. I went up to help unpack and was taken to the Bridge of Allan Highland Games, which were a cross between a sports day and a fete with the added bonus of men in kilts tossing cabers and bands of pipers marching and piping.

Food for thought

2008-07-24T01:56:00.000-07:00

Being a granny is more time-consuming, I am discovering, than being mother-of-the-bride ever was. Today I'm feeling a little sad that the not-so-newly weds and the baby are soon moving to Scotland - it seems such a long way away. But I'm also feeling happy because the daughter and the grandson are coming to stay for a few days.
We have (we think) babyproofed the ground floor and I've unearthed various toys. Now I just need to brush up my cooking skills. Judging from the expression on the young man's face, we seemed to have hatched a budding food critic.

Going down a bomb

2008-06-06T06:41:00.000-07:00

I don’t know why it hadn’t dawned on me that Sex and the City (the film) is about a wedding. Anyway, I went to see it with a girlfriend last night which is when I realised that I hadn’t been paying attention to all the publicity.

So did I enjoy it? Sort of. I was never a great fan of the tv shows (too old, if truth be told - and why do younger generations always think they were the first to talk dirty and enjoy sex?) Still, there were some clever lines and Carrie’s outfits were fascinating in an “how could she possibly go out dressed like that” kind of way.

The film was more of the same, only too long and less well observed. But I loved the Westwood wedding dress and the dead bird hat. And it’s clearly going down a bomb (which is more than Samantha was, for once).

We went to the early evening showing (another sign of advancing years) and had the cinema virtually to ourselves. Apart from two brave men with their partners. the rest of the audience was made up of a handful of women of a certain age plus a couple of ladies who I doubt will see 80 again. They thoroughly enjoyed the naked sex scenes, tutting vigorously and muttering to each other.

When we came out, though, there was long queue snaking round the foyer. All women. Mostly 20, 30 and 40-somethings. Clearly the film is a hit.

I was tempted to suggest we found somewhere to sip a cocktail or two. But you’re more likely to find cola than cosmopolitans in the gastronomic wasteland that is the Finchley leisure centre and no-one had had the entrepreneurial drive to realise that a special promotion to link with the film would have had the cash registers ringing, given that so many females were on a girlie night out.

So we went home and opened a bottled of rioja instead

Not-so-smart

2008-05-23T08:58:00.000-07:00

Exam time is in full swing and I wonder how my meeja students are doing. I hope none of them has been cheating.

Apparently, two students (no idea which department) have been reported for using mobile phones during their exams. The invigilators believed they were using their phones to view notes – but the uni couldn’t confiscate the phones as evidence.

Staff were alerted in a email which continued: 'However, the introduction of a mobile phone into an examination room is an office in itself, as is failure to comply with the instructions of an invigilator.'

Mobile phone an office? Must have been a smartphone.

Bears of very little brain

2008-05-20T05:43:00.000-07:00

I don’t know why I’m hooked on The Apprentice, but I’m looking forward to my fix tonight. Last week’s episode had me in stitches – it was a brilliant idea to send them all off the National Wedding Show at the NEC where they were clearly so far out of their depth that they should been broadcasting a Mayday from the start.
One bride-to-be looked on the verge of tears as Michael piled the pressure on in a bid to sell his wedding cakes, telling her that a traditional choice would look dull and be a disaster (or words to that effect).
I’m not surprised that no-one was prepared to put a deposit down on a wedding cake then and there. But I was surprised that Michael clearly thought his cupcake version was something special or different. Googling wedding cupcakes produces about 145,000 hits.
It would have been different if he had been flogging a cake made out of tiers of cheese. That, according to deli owner Nick Lindley, is the latest ‘in’ wedding food.
There’s a picture of one on the weddingpath.co.uk website. It’s apparently made with a base of Brie Meaux, topped by a Cornish yarg, a Colston-Bassett Stilton, an Italian Pecorino Rossa, a local White Nancy goats’ cheese and a soft Langres cows’ cheese from France.
I had to look up yarg. It does exist. But I am unconvinced that any bride worth her salt would rather plump for yarg than icing, chocolate, or even cupcakes.

Glass half empty?

2008-05-12T01:17:00.001-07:00

I always suspected I was by nature a pessimist but this was brought home to me on Saturday when we arrived home after a trip to get an old buggy new wheels (joys of grannydom) and saw a pair of black, be-plumed horses waiting patiently in the street. “Must be a funeral,” I said. Then I noticed that the black horses were wearing white plumes and were harnessed to a carriage not a hearse. “Ooh, no, it’s a wedding,” I corrected myself. And indeed it was.

We have lived here for nearly 27 years (we moved in two days after the daughter was born, which was interesting) and this is the first time I can recall a street wedding. My daughter had already moved away before she married, as had the girl next door, and so far none of the other youngsters who are now 20- or even 30-somethings have tied the knot. But the block of flats opposite is now full of young couples who – unlike us back in the early 80s – cannot afford to rent, let alone, buy a house in London.

Quite of few of the neighbours came out to watch and wish them well. We think it was the bride’s mum in the pale green outfit with matching shoes and hat. The bridesmaids looked lovely in strapless, full-length garnet dresses. But the bride was truly beautiful in pale gold, with little lace cap sleeves and a bouquet of deep red roses.

We all clapped as she climbed into the carriage and the horses clip-clopped off towards St Barnabas’ church which is just round the corner. And I wasn’t the neighbour who observed that if I’d been the bride I’d have got them to go the long way round to get the most for my money. She just said what I was thinking.

Hatch, match, dispatch

2008-05-01T06:50:00.000-07:00

Two weddings have been announced this week, by daughters of friends. The friends have already apologetically made it clear that we won’t be on the guest lists.

My old room mate from uni says her daughter and the intended have announced they will be inviting only those who share half their genes to the ceremony (and partners one assumes). Children will be banned.

They want a drinks party in the evening for their friends – with the emphasis on drink not food. The father who is footing the bill is not entirely happy about this and the elder brother has declared that a wedding isn’t a wedding without speeches and a sit-down meal.

The other friend – the mother of one of my daughter’s school friends and a founder member of our book club - says their happy couple has decided on a small ceremony at the local town hall followed by a drinks and nibbles reception to satisfy the crumblies (they are up to 60 on the FOTB’s side of the family alone), and then a party for the bride and groom’s friends in the evening.

I am very happy for both sets of mums and daughters and I’m sure both weddings will be wonderful, but it’s also a sure bet that will be plenty of drama between now and then.

The other exciting news this week is that the daughter of another friend is expecting her first baby – and she invited Mum along to see the grandson or daughter on the scan. A nice gesture, I tbought.

So that’s hatching and matching – and sadly there’s also been some dispatching. This week I made a donation to the Woodland Trust in memory of a writer I met relatively recently, but who will be just as fondly remembered as the journalist I worked with back in the 1970s whose rather jolly wake took place in an old Fleet Street pub.

Anne Robinson came which was rather unexpected, arriving with one of her ex-husbands, which was even more so. And nobody got drunk enough to quote her catchphrase in her hearing, which shows how much we've all grown up in the past 30-odd years.

What we wish for

2008-04-30T01:41:00.001-07:00

The daughter has always been on trend. When she was little her bedroom was a shrine to My Little Pony and Care Bears. As she got older we all learned to live with her enthusiasms. Witchery, purple hair, tattoos, piercings.

Stuff mattered to her. A lot. Indeed, she once ditched a boy because he wore the wrong trainers. So I shouldn’t have been surprised by last year’s wedding. According to a survey just published by More magazine, getting married is what every young women now aspires to.

More specifically, today’s young woman wants to marry a man called James, who earns at least £25,000, by the time she's 25. Apparently, if she hasn’t nailed her Mr Right by then she fears she never will.

When I was 25 all I was interested in was making a success of my career, having fun and earning as much as I could in my own right. The last thing I wanted to do was settle down with one man and start nesting. Looking back, I suppose I was just following fashion, too.

Anyway, the daughter doesn’t seem to have lost her feeling for what’s hot and what’s not. She was 25 when she married, the man in question earns more than 25k a year – but he isn’t called James.

It’s good she’s retained some sense of originality.

Trials and Tribulations

2008-04-18T07:18:00.001-07:00

Back from (not-so-sunny) Spain and catching up with the news.

I see Ivana Trump’s wedding was suitably OTT. But it’s a story on the bbc website that has caught my eye.

A young lady from Birmingham called Ramona was all set to marry her boyfriend Wayne in July. The wedding was going to cost around £5000 – but then the bride-to-be lost her job. So how could Romana make her dreams come true?

Apparently she has been taking part in not one, not two, but three consecutive (one hopes) clinical trials. The fees she earned will pay for the wedding. Luckily she has not swollen up, turned black or had any parts of her anatomy fall off. She did get a rash at one point but it wasn’t serious. So that’s all right then.

The story didn’t make clear what contribution Wayne was making. Or why they decided to spend so much on one day in their lives when money was so tight. But then when has commonsense ever had much to do with weddings?

Poc ennuvolat

2008-04-08T01:48:00.001-07:00

We are off to Catalunya tonight with some friends. The weather is not looking good. There will (probably) be no snow – but no central heating either.
Last week temperatures were in the T-shirt zone. This week they may be dropping into the thermals.
By obsessively checking the local weather forecasts I’m at least learning a few more words of Catalan. I think poc ennuvolat means a little hazy.
The number three son is to be left in charge. I will leave a list of Things To Do which he will, no doubt, ignore. As these include the ritual of putting out the recycling bins and bringing them in empty before they go AWOL, I expect any benefits of a week away will quickly dissipate on return.
The daughter, husband, grandson and two rugby-fan friends are coming to stay overnight at the weekend. They may also bring the mad dog. I have made up the spare beds and put out clean towels - and washed the dog's duvet.
It's hard to believe that a year ago I was counting down to the wedding. Probably because these days I'm poc ennuvolat.

Brides with bumps

2008-04-02T02:36:00.001-07:00

Regular readers (well, one is always hopeful) may recall that last October I introduced my grandson, the reason why my daughter’s wedding was fast-forwarded a year.
I have no idea how many brides are pregnant when they marry – it’s not the kind of statistic the ONS supplies – but it must be a fair few. So it was a surprise how difficult it was to find a dress that would accommodate the daughter’s changing shape and still look stunning on the day.
We both surfed the net and came up with a few mail order possibilities. I held out great hopes for the yummy mummy sounding Isabella Oliver Belle Epoque dress but when it arrived (beautifully packaged) it was far too big, looked like a nightie and was not in the least bit flattering.
The main problem was not the bride-to-be’s expanding waistline (we could work out roughly how much bigger it would get by the day of the wedding and we used a cushion to simulate the bump) but her bust.
OK, it wasn’t exactly Katie Price proportions, but on someone who had been a 32A it might as well have been. And it was getting bigger all the time …
In the end we found a lovely Empire-line dress in gold and cream from Monsoon and with a little nifty needlework (by the mother-in-law as I pretend not to know one end of a needle from another) it looked a treat. Problem solved.
Skimming through the Daily Mail today (it’s work, honest) I spot a headline: Gowns for the bride with a bump.

It turns out that Tracey Wilkinson also had problems finding a maternity dress for her wedding. Seeing a business opportunity Ms Wilkinson has now set up Expectant Bride (http://www.expectantbride.com) which makes designer weddings dresses for mums-to-be.
Ann Widdecombe apparently thinks it’s a sad sign of the times. I think Tracey’s business will blossom.

Something borrowed

2008-03-14T05:21:00.000-07:00

The need for diversions to alleviate wedding withdrawal symptoms is not quite as strong as it was. But anything about brides, grooms. mother-in-laws or receptions - especially bad behaviour to do with any of the afore-mentioned – is still compelling.

Throw Torchwood into the mix – and how could I resist?

It was all complete nonsense, of course, with shapeshifters and alien babies, not to mention Jack bursting in to stop the wedding as Gwen was about to make her vows. But Nerys Hughes was a joy to watch, especially as I noticed (rather cattily) that since the heyday of the Liver Birds she has accumulated even more wrinkles and poundage than me.

Here comes the bride

2008-02-27T06:50:00.000-08:00

As you may have gathered, I have added some music to this blog. It seemed a good idea at this time but on reflection I think it may become rather tedious - do let me know.

The long-suffering bridesmaid

2008-02-22T09:08:00.001-08:00

Emily Perry - who played megastar Dame Edna Everage's silent and much-put-upon bridesmaid Madge Allsop - has taken her final call.
But like the good trouper she was, Emily first notched up her century.
I interviewed Emily in the late 80s (for Radio Times, I think). We met at her home near Crystal Palace, I was introduced to the poodle of the day, and then we went out to a hotel for lunch and a drink.
Out of character Emily had plenty to say and was clearly enjoying her celebrity. And unlike Madge, she was immaculately turned out.
So cheers Emily – every time someone plonks a sticker on my chest I’ll think of you.

Suffer the little children

2008-02-20T02:28:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if arranging a wedding in ten weeks for a much-loved daughter counts as a moving personal experience in the grand scheme of things. But I've sent in a little bit of the blog to be considered for inclusion in a book that's being published to help this charity.
More information can be found at peacharse.blogspot.com - there's still time to enter as the deadline is Feb 29.

Love is like a butterfly

2008-02-14T02:00:00.001-08:00

Yes, I got roses (2 in a mixed bouquet). And chocs (3 little hearts because I’m meant to be on a diet). A pot of that champagne Marmite (he knows I love Marmite). And a bottle of pink champagne (lovely bubbly). But best of all I got a cooked breakfast of mushrooms on toast (my favourite).

I’ve been trying to remember our first Valentine’s Day, but it has been lost in the mists of time. I still have some of the first presents he bought me – a pair of tiny butterfly earrings and a cream butterfly on a silver chain. And I still have some of the first love letters he wrote me. But I’m not sure I could lay my hands on the very first Valentine card and I can’t remember if we went anywhere special – or just stayed in.

I do remember the first time I cooked for him. It was one of those seventies dishes with cream and butter and pork and peppers – and it gave him an upset stomach. No wonder he now does most of the cooking.

Second Thoughts

2008-02-13T03:40:00.001-08:00

If you're planning a wedding this year, now may be the perfect time to lay in a stock of champagne.

The supermarkets appear to be competing to see who can offer the best deals.

So never mind Valentine's day, stock up now while you have the chance. It might not be romantic, but listen to your head not your heart.

Valentine thoughts

2008-02-13T03:17:00.000-08:00

Forget the commercialism. You don’t have to buy champagne and roses.

But we all need to be reminded at least once a year to make time and space for love and romance. To remember what you saw in each other in the first place. To count your blessings.

This poem - called The Wife's Tale - is a timely reminder

You crept between the cracks in a marriage and made yourself at home.
I was tired, worn down
by years of homework and school holidays.
I had heard his stories many times, no longer listened.
But you said, ‘You have done so many fascinating things.
I can imagine that you are very good at storytelling,
especially at bedtime.’

I saw a man with a thickening waistline, high blood pressure and athlete’s foot.
You saw a dreamer, a poet, a lover,
You saw the man he always thought he would be.
I dashed his dreams with reason’s cold water,
I cut him down to size.
But you said, ‘I have no doubt that you can do anything you want.
You are so clever and I am so proud of you.’

I sat in restaurants in silence because words were traps for the unwary.
But you said, ‘I'm never too busy to spend time talking to you.
You are such an interesting man.’
I turned away in bed, picked up a book, switched off a light.
But you wrote, ‘I cannot wait to see you it is such, such torture.
We need to make love, long passionate love,
with no clocks in the room, please, and no mobile phones.’

I black-binned his clothes, changed the locks, cried with friends.
You said, ‘I thought that no-one had to be aware of my presence for a while.
‘I don’t want to be the scarlet woman.
‘You have to sort things out without me in the equation.’
He did his sums in the guest house bedroom and came home.
You said, ‘Ever felt that somehow you lose all the things you care about?’
Almost, I thought, as he unpacked his bags.

Lucky, lucky, lucky

2008-02-12T01:47:00.001-08:00

It was brought home to me yesterday how lucky my husband and I were to have been so closely involved with the daughter’s wedding.

Chatting on the phone to one of my Christmas cards friends – the ones you’ve known for more years than you both care to remember but now only see once in a blue moon – I realised two things:

a) we got off very lightly in terms of the overall cost (my friend said that the daughter had spent more than £2,000 on the dress alone and that the husband had earmarked £30,000 for the event)

b) it was lovely having a chance to do the girly things that I never did for my own wedding – helping to choosing all the little details from the style for the invitations to the colour of the canna lilies and the bride’s dress.

My friend says the bride and groom – who are in their thirties – are organising everything themselves. That’s how it is these days.

After our daughter’s wedding she sent us a lovely card thanking us for making the day so special. Now I feel I should have sent her one – to thank her for giving me the chance to be so much a part of it.

Forward Planning

2008-01-31T06:44:00.000-08:00

The copy for the meeja students' magazine Hitched is in and it's a pretty mixed batch. Some good ideas just haven't been explored properly.

One student wrote about the trend for vintage (or vintage in style) wedding dresses. She spoke to a vintage clothes collector and a make-up artist who specialises in retro looks, but she didn't find anyone to talk to about the evolution of wedding dresses themselves (although she did rewrite some of the info she found on various websites).

I felt sure there were collections in various museums that she could have mentioned, and curators who would have been happy to share their expertise. Indeed, when I Googled around a bit, I found several possibilities from Leeds to Dawlish .

I also found a treat for the future - a wedding dress exhibition to be held at the V&A in May. I doubt any of my students will be there.

Backsliding already

2008-01-23T06:01:00.000-08:00

So how am I doing with my NY resolutions? Clearly I’m already failing to post any more regularly, probably because cuddling the young man on the left is more fun than tapping away on a keyboard.

But I am doing better on the ‘must finish more books’ front.
So far I have read:
The quite clever and somewhat touching Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers
The much better Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (Thinks: Is this kind of title all down to the success of Short History of Tractors ….?)
The very funny (and useful) Pardon My French – Unleash your Inner Gaul
The Bard meets the Da Vinci Code in The Shakespeare Secret
And I’m halfway through One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson
And although I’m nowhere up to dovegreyreader standards, I am working full time and it’s not the end of the month yet.

I don’t wish to say anything about the diet, except I would kill for a glass of wine.

As for my new batch of meeja students, I haven’t yelled at them yet. The module I take them for is one in which they have to come up with a concept for a 32-page A4 magazine, write all the copy for it, arrange all the pictures, design it and get it printed. In 12 days. It’s a tough task which requires sticking to deadlines – a concept young people often seem to have trouble understanding.

However, by some freaky coincidence this group has chosen a subject dear to my heart. They have decided to produce a magazine all about weddings.

Sort of resolute

2008-01-08T02:49:00.000-08:00

This year I will:

AIM to post more regularly on this blog – although I am still trying to readjust to the change of persona from Mother of the Bride (who can perform wonders by arranging weddings in just three months) to the granny who is completely out of date with modern methods of childrearing (no, Mum, you only give one breast at a feed so that they completely empty it …) Amazing that either of my two survived infancy really.

FINISH more books (especially the ones set by the book club, even if they are not and will never be to my taste because it’s meant to be a mind-expanding experience, not just an excuse for a glass or two of wine and a gossip). Incidentally, I expect everyone else who belongs to a book club has already read it but, if you haven’t, Tim Dowling’s column in the Guardian on October 20,2007 is spot on.
It starts: 1) This novel is filled with intriguing characters. Which character do you most identify with and why? Can you remember his or her name? Perhaps you should just let someone else go first.
I particularly liked: 11) The white wine has run out. Is your host going to get another bottle or is she going to keep going on and on about the symbolism of the frigging wind chimes? There’s plenty of red left. Should you switch to red?
Read the whole thing at www.guardian.co.uk/weekend/story/0,,2194153,00.html

LOSE 2 stones in weight (well, maybe half a stone)

BE NICER. Especially to my new set of meeja studies (journalism pathway) students even if, like the batch I had last semester, they cannot spell, punctuate, or recognise when a sentence is nothing but gobbledygook - let alone write a feature.

Gongs for Gavin

2007-12-06T09:41:00.000-08:00

How did Gavin and Stacey slip under my radar? Essex boy meets Barry Island girl. They fall in love and plan a wedding. Perfect material for a sit-com – as anyone who’s ever been involved in the marriage merry-go-round will know.

The BBC3 series picked up three gongs at last night’s Comedy Awards so I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to catch up with it elsewhere on the Beeb at some point. I’m just kicking myself that I missed out on such gems as a wedding fair with Matt Lucas as the ultimate stag do organiser and goodness knows what else.

I blame it on the grandson. He’s just too distracting.

Diamond Geezer

2007-11-20T04:17:00.000-08:00

It was, after all, a love match. That could be why it has lasted for 60 years. Or could it be down to the fact that in the 1940s people still had a touching belief in concepts such as doing your duty and honouring your promises.

Either way, let’s raise a glass to Elizabeth and her diamond geezer and toast them and times past. I doubt we’ll see young Harry celebrating his diamond wedding.

To mark the occasion, Buckingham Palace have revealed 60 things you might not have known about the events surrounding the wedding. (You can find all of these on the BBC website.)

I always assumed that wedding favours were a vulgar modern extravagance. But then I read this:

40. Individual posies of myrtle and white Balmoral heather were placed at each place setting as "favours" (gifts to the guests).

That's me corrected then.

A-bidie with me

2007-11-06T08:05:00.000-08:00

Co-habiting is not a pretty word. Co-habitee sounds even worse. But I’ve just discovered that the Scots have a lovely way of describing a live-in partner: they call them a bidie-in.

I expect most of you knew that already. Sorry to be so, well, southernly. But maybe you won’t have heard of a poem I came across at the same time. It was submitted as part of an exhibition called The Art of Love, held in 2005 by Londonart.co.uk and written by the poet Diane Hendry.

The poem is called Application. It goes like this:
O let me be your bidie-in
And keep you close within
As dearest kith and kin
I promise I’d be tidy in
Whatever bed or bunk you’re in
I’d never ever drink your gin
I’d be your multi-vitamin
I’d wear my sexy tiger skin
And play my love-sick mandolin
It cannot be a mortal sin
To be in such a dizzy spin
I’d like to get inside your skin
I’d even be your concubine
I hope you know I’m genuine
O let me be your bidie-in.

I like the sound of Diane. I’m now off to track down some more of her work.

Mr MacCool

2007-10-24T03:21:00.000-07:00

I know I’ve been quiet for a while – it’s because of a metamorphosis. No longer Mother of the Bride, not even Mother-in-law, we are (as Mrs Thatcher once famously said) a grandmother.

The young man on whose account the wedding was fast-forwarded a year is called Finn. And here he is.

In sickness or health

2007-10-05T02:08:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about wedding vows the other day. My conclusion was that sticking to the ‘for richer or poorer’ bit - or it’s modern equivalent – is actually a lot easier than keeping the promise about ‘in sickness or health’.

Years ago, when my husband found himself unexpectedly unemployed it was a challenge to do a week’s supermarket shop for a fraction of what we were used to spending – but one that I rose to without complaint. In fact I quite enjoyed it.

But I have never been good at playing Florence Nightingale. If I’m ill I like to go to bed, dose myself up with OTC remedies, watch daytime television and hibernate until I’m feeling better. However long that takes.

I don’t appreciate being told I should go for a walk in the fresh air to blow the germs away, or being brought plates of food that I have no appetite for, however lovingly prepared.

Of course that’s ungrateful – I know, I know. And I know, too, that I should be happy to look after my husband when he catches the horrible cold I’m recovering from. Only he won’t go to bed. He is in the kitchen, opening cupboard doors, leaving his germs everywhere.

I’ve just asked him what he would like for supper and instead of saying that anything would be wonderful, he’s come up with a proposed menu that involves peeling and slicing and grilling and will make several pans dirty. And he doesn’t want it now - which is when I want to cook it – he wants it in an hour’s time.

Why? Because he’s just found a pot of hummus in the fridge and has helped himself to a snack.

The good, the bad and the ugly

2007-09-11T03:33:00.000-07:00

It’s been a romantic year, what with the daughter’s engagement and then the wedding. The husband decided it was our turn – so he whisked me off last weekend to Paris by Eurostar. (You may not realise how romantic a gesture this was on his part unless you happen to know that on Saturday he was missing England playing cricket, the rugby world cup and something else, probably football)

The good:
*Going by train – so much more civilised than queuing at airports – and I could take all my make-up and moisturisers instead of doling out tiny portions and sticking them in a see-through plastic bag.
*Being turned away by a snooty greeter at a restaurant we’d booked after seeing it recommended in the Observer – it looked like an overlit, overblown tourist trap so thank goodness they had muddled up the reservation. We found a much more interesting place to eat nearby.
*Getting upgraded to a junior suite at the hotel – but only because our room wasn’t ready for us to check-in until tea time.

The bad:
*Housekeeping at the St James & Albany – which was 4-star, not cheapo fleapit and therefore inexcusable.

The ugly:
*Having our Visa card refused on the Metro and again when it came to checking out of the hotel. Then, back home - on finally getting to talk to someone at Lloyds bank to see why this was - being told the card appeared to have been cloned and used illegally in the UK.

Now Lloyds say the whole matter will have to go through some kind of dispute procedure and we will have to prove that we couldn’t have used the card in Norfolk or wherever on Saturday because we were in Paris! Good thing I kept that restaurant receipt.

The Dress Dilemma

2007-09-06T03:47:00.000-07:00

I didn’t wear a conventional wedding dress on the day I got married, so the question of what to do with it afterwards never arose. And I have no idea what my daughter plans for the ivory and gold number she wore on her wedding day.

It wouldn’t surprise me if she shortened it or dyed it black to get more wear out of it –she’s not usually sentimental about possessions. But I suppose she might wrap it in tissue paper and store it at the back of the wardrobe.

So what should you do with your wedding dress once the wedding is over? Give it to a charity shop? Sell it on ebay? Dig it out to raise money for charity on National Wedding Dress Day like the readers of Take a Break, some of whom are pictured above?

This week I read a news story about a wedding dress that had been passed down through four generations and worn by six different brides. That’s what I call recycling.

My mother was a war bride. I have no idea where she managed to lay her hands on a wedding dress or what happened to it afterwards. Sadly, she’s no longer here to ask. But she was so slim in the 1940s that, forty years later, I would never been able to squeeze into her gown even if she had mothballed it for me.

An atom of meaning?

2007-09-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

I’ve done jury service once. My husband was recently called for the third time. That makes once for the coroner’s court and now twice for crown court – although it’s a different London crown court this time.

We discussed his deferring it, but in the end decided he might as well get it over and done with. (It appears to be much harder to duck out of altogether than it used to be.)

So he duly pitched up a week ago yesterday – and he hasn’t had a day in court yet. At first he was sent away in the early afternoon. Now he simply rings up between 3 and 4 and asks if he will needed the next day.

My fear is that on Friday he’ll be chosen for some complicated case that will go on for weeks. Surely that won’t happen, will it?

Ye Olde Fleet Street Tour

2007-08-31T02:07:00.000-07:00

Today it is 10 years since the death of the ‘people’s princess’ – a fact which will have escaped no-one who watches tv, listens to the radio, reads a paper or gets their daily fix of news and gossip online.

On the day Diana married her prince I was a young hack working in Fleet Street and by leaning out of one of the windows it was possible to see, far down below, the guests and the main players as they passed by on their way to St Paul’s. At the time I was pregnant with the daughter who has just had her own wedding, so hanging out of windows was rather uncomfortable. But last night I found myself pointing out the building to a mother from South Africa, here to visit her son.

The son’s partner is a journalist and we were all there because of an invitation we’d had from our boss: We are proud to announce that Ye Olde Fleet St Tour has been modernised, updated and refurbished at VAST expense and is to be relaunched next Thursday 30 August as the Incredible Fleet St Holistic Experience 2008 and Beyond, sponsored by Sol, the touchy-feely Mexican Lager.

In other words, the annual Fleet Street pub crawl (with a bit of history thrown in for newbie journos who have no idea what life used to be like on the Street of Shame).

Last night, we started the Fleet Street experience at the Blackfriars pub (terrible service, stunning interior, named after the monks who lived there in medieval times); moved on to the Old Bell (which backs on to St Bride’s church - burnt down when the Great Fire crossed the River Fleet, rebuilt by Wren, bombed in the Blitz); and from there to Gough Square (Dr Johnson and his dictionary) to the Cheshire Cheese (full of tourists – including a couple with a child in a buggy).

It was as we crossed Fleet Street on the way to the Cheese that I found myself pointing out that window. The South African lady looked suitably impressed. But not half as impressed as I was when she told me later that her daughter got married in the summer – and she had made all the dresses for the bride and the bridesmaids herself!

PS: St Bride’s is the journalists’ church. It’s where some of us get married or go to sing carols at Christmas and it’s where we hold memorials for friends and colleagues, before decamping to El Vino’s to swap memories. If you’ve ever wondered why Fleet Street became the centre for printing and newspapers, their website has a good explanation
http://www.stbrides.com/history/press/index.htm

Two's company

2007-08-16T06:13:00.000-07:00

Togetherness is tricky. It’s an odd thing to find yourself saying to a newly wed, but it’s true. As I told my daughter, however much you love someone, the day always comes when you wish they were somewhere else. Just so that you can do your own thing, in your own way, in your own time. On your own.

Take shopping, for instance. Most women complain that their men hate shopping. That they have to drag them to malls and supermarkets. My question is – why bother?

I’m married to someone who likes shopping. Only he shops in a different way to me. He plans each trip with military precision. Operation Brent Cross usually involves a series of missions (buy new socks, check out laptops in Apple Store, get birthday present for grandson in Early Learning Centre) carried out at maximum speed in order to return to base by the time the football kicks off on tv.

My way of shopping couldn’t be more different. I may have a vague objective (present for friend’s birthday next month) but I’m quite happy to go into a number of stores seeking inspiration while simultaneously keeping an eye out for: a) an outfit to wear to the birthday party that would be nicer than anything I currently own, b) a pair of shoes to replace the ones I wear when it rains, only I can’t any more because one of the soles has split and c) a bean-bag because my daughter wants one and I’d like to know how much they cost.

It’s quite possible I’ll come back hours later empty-handed. But it's a sure bet that I won't be greeted with ‘Hallo darling,’ but ‘What took you so long?’

Mirror, Mirror

2007-08-09T09:15:00.000-07:00

Thanks must go to the Mirror newspaper for alerting me to another must-see tv programme about weddings (ITV1 tonight). This young lady staggered down the aisle in a crystal-encrusted dress weighing 20 stone.

One Big Con?

2007-08-07T04:50:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I have been sneakily watching The Big Day on bbc tv. The show is a cross between a house makeover – in this case it’s a venue – and a wedding reality show.

The premise is that some poor couple on a limited budget allow their families to get together with the BD’s ‘experts’ to arrange their wedding in the space of a week. The bride has no idea what her dress will look like, and neither bride nor groom knows where the reception will be held. Will it be in a Scout hut or a stately home? Will the theme be Hollywood – or Robin Hood?

I am clearly not the only wedding-obsessive who’s been watching this. Nor am I the only one who thinks the Beeb’s been cheating again. Rose, who’s been chatting on weddingpath.co.uk, says:

I absolutely am so impressed by what they achieve on that show! They actually brought the beach indoors- very fab- but was anybody else wondering like me? How on earth would they get it back outside again?!!! We never get to see the tidying up that must go into it after the event- it must have taken a while! Also, is it just me or at the end when they total up the cost of everything are there parts that are deliberately missed out such as the wedding make-up, hair, suit hire, accessories, church venue costs, transport, or is that all included in the price - because if it is I'm very impressed that they could produce everything with just £7000!!

Exactly. I smelt a rat, too. I think we should be told.

When Lilibet married her naval officer

2007-07-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

Such excitement. This summer an exhibition is being held at Buckingham Palace to celebrate the Queen’s 60th wedding anniversary*. I’m no monarchist, but I can remember how important the event felt back in those belt-tightening, post-war days of rationing and cod liver oil.

Our family had a cardboard cut-out book from which you could create a model of the pageant. It had everything, from the Household Cavalry on their horses to the glittering fairy-tale coach which took pride of place on our mantelpiece. Goodness knows what happened to it (the coach, not the mantelpiece).

I expect my mother chucked it out along with her Lloyd loom chairs, her utility furniture and any other 'vintage' items we might, years later, have been able to put on ebay.

According to Elizabeth Grice (writing in the Daily Telegraph), the morning of Princess Elizabeth’s wedding didn’t go entirely to plan. The bride’s tiara snapped and needed a hasty repair. Her bouquet went temporarily AWOL, and she left the string of pearls she wanted to wear in the wrong palace. As you do.

Isn’t it comforting to learn that a Royal Wedding is as prone to last-minute hitches as any?

*www.royalcollection.org.uk

Some mistake surely?

2007-07-20T03:24:00.000-07:00

Organising a wedding – especially when you only have ten weeks – requires so much attention to detail that it’s difficult to keep on top of everything else you should be doing at the same time. While I was configuring seating plans and ordering flowers I was (with my work hat on) looking for a new assistant. I picked the wrong one.

She started the week after the wedding and I think we both suspected from the start it was a mistake. I felt pretty sure when I asked her to find me the Times splash and then discovered she'd been keying those exact words into a Google search. No doubt she felt pretty sure when she discovered she had a grumpy old woman as her boss.

Anyway, she’s gone and I’ve started the process all over again.

Under less pressure now, I have time to despair at the applications. Or laugh. Here is a selection (from today’s 2:1 graduates):

*I knew from an early age that I wanted to get into journalism but instead opted to do French.

*The job will be the perfect platform to give you the boost you need to start a career. Therefore many people and me will be applying for this position.

*PERSONEL STATEMENT
An ambitious graduate journalist …

*I have been writing since childhood and have developed my own distinctive style without losing the ability to be fluid and can write using a style guide and to a brief on time whilst under pressure.

After a while I lost track of the number of misplaced apostrophes, misspelt driving licenses and other basic errors.

I learned to hate the phrase ‘field of journalism’ – why limit yourself to a field? Why not a meadow or a prairie?

I identified ‘third eye syndrome’, a condition where the first three paragraphs of a covering letter (possibly more) all start with the word I.

I never want to have to read another statement that talks about people skills ever, ever again. (See, it’s contagious).

Interviews start next week.

Time goes by

2007-07-19T06:30:00.000-07:00

My daughter has now been married for seven weeks and four days. I wonder if she’s counting.

Back in 1965 – the year I had my first real boyfriend - I used to keep track of how long we’d been dating. My diary entry for Monday Jan 25 reads: 2wks. Met Tom after school. Waited for bus with me. Washed hair. Planned Chas 1 essay. Half-heartedly began revision.

Clearly the Swinging Sixties were passing me by – although prior to this I do recall being taken to see the Beatles at the Finsbury Park Astoria by a young man whom I subsequently (and ungratefully) dumped.

I had to stop and think about the length of time I’ve known my husband. I was mildly appalled to work out it has been 32 years. We’ve only been married for 22, though, which makes me feel slightly less ancient.

With luck, I think we might make our silver wedding. Maybe I will get my set of matching towels after all.

Time Travels

2007-07-11T03:45:00.000-07:00

Weddings are a wonderful source of stories. Loved the latest about the Toronto-based teacher Dave Barclay. He flew 3,500 miles across the Atlantic to attend a mate’s wedding only to find that - unlike the hapless Huw Grant character in FWAAF - far from being late, he was a year too early.

The misunderstanding arose after he got an email from a mate in Cardiff, saying he was getting married on July 6. The trouble was, he meant July 2008.

Dave - who clearly has no idea how long it takes to organise most weddings - has taken it all in good spirit apparently, telling BBC Wales that at least it should assure him a mention in the speech next year.

Happy Ever After?

2007-07-10T08:35:00.000-07:00

What’s the collective noun for bridesmaids - a bevy? A beauty? Or even a bother?

How could I possibly stop writing about weddings when I keep stumbling across stories like this one in today’s Daily Mail.

When Michelle O’Reilly - a 44-year-old mother of three – got married on Saturday she was accompanied by a grand total of 24 bridesmaids. She just couldn’t bear to leave out any of her nieces, friends’ daughters or her own girls.

As the Mail observed, she is obviously a total romantic and believer in happy ever afters. She even named her youngest daughter Cinderella Rose.

Check it out on www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=467343&in_page_id=1770
(Sorry – haven’t figured out links yet.)

What's in a name?

2007-07-02T10:05:00.000-07:00

Just got back to Blighty after a much-needed, thank-goodness-it’s-all-over holiday. I suppose I should now shut up. Or rename this blog.

I began it not long after New Year’s Eve. We were at a Wild West murder mystery evening with friends. When the daughter’s boyfriend rang the mobile just after midnight, my husband asked him if he could call back later as we were just about to learn whodunnit.

To his credit the boyfriend didn’t take this the wrong way. Particularly since it turned out that he hadn’t called to wish us Happy New Year. He wanted to ask if he could propose to our daughter.

When I started Mother of the Bride I thought it would have a shelf life of at least a year. But the happy couple’s decision to bring the wedding forward means I have gone from one persona to another in just six months.

And I’m not sure I like the sound of Mother-in-Law half as much.

3 tips on organising a wedding

2007-06-08T06:44:00.000-07:00

1. Don’t expect official photographers to think.
You may have specified that you do not want formal firing squad family group pix – but you still have to explain what you DO want. It might seem obvious that you would like informal pictures of key family members such as the groom’s father with his wife or the bride’s brothers who are acting as ushers, rather than six photographs of empty tables just to show how nicely they had been laid. But take nothing for granted.
Oh, and should the reception be held in a school where the bride and groom teach there is really no need for the photographer to go to the trouble of snapping the school badge and motto – especially if it is in Latin and they don’t have a clue what it means.

2. Having a table seating plan is no guarantee of harmony.
It helps if you are acquainted with who you are putting next to whom. If not, do not assume that two people who are married to each other and live at the same address are still a couple – or, indeed, on speaking terms.

3. Sale and return is always sale and no return.
If drink is available, it will be drunk. Why would anyone ever think otherwise?

Barking mad

2007-06-01T06:58:00.000-07:00

As my husband likes to put it, we haven’t lost a daughter – we’ve gained a dog-in-law.

The dog in question is the bridegroom’s Springer spaniel and we are dog sitting while they are on honeymoon. We are cat people and I don’t think this is a fair test.

The people at www.springerrescue.org.uk say that basically, ‘Springers are strong willed and active, always on the go. They love family life and are extremely affectionate, but need to be controlled.’

In other words, they take no notice of anything you say unless it suits them so to do. And they are probably the source of the expression ‘completely barking mad.’

Isn't she lovely?

2007-05-31T07:51:00.000-07:00

So ... what can I say?

The day went without a hitch. (We're not mentioning the mobile phone that rang during the ceremony as that belonged to the bride's father. And we were a bit taken aback by the Celtic blessing the Registrar sprang on us, since both sides of the family are more Anglo Saxon than Celt).

But the bride was beautiful. The sun shone. They looked a perfect couple.

We came in only marginally over budget. And it was worth every last penny.

Not doing an Amy

2007-05-25T03:03:00.000-07:00

Amy Winehouse may just bave won an award – but she’s rumoured to be in the doghouse as far as her mum’s concerned. Mum was less impressed with the singer’s low-key Miami wedding and is insisting on a proper do back home.
Our proper do kicks off tomorrow. A tiny part of me thinks it might have been a good idea if my daughter had done an Amy.
But most of me is really looking forward to it.

Buff Brides and other books

2007-05-16T03:47:00.000-07:00

I normally have several books on the go at once. One for bed-time reading, one for the Tube, one that’s to be discussed at the next book club meeting, and probably one that made up the 3-4-2 but turned out to be more gripping than those I went out to buy.

The wedding has put paid to that. Losing myself in a book is usually the best way for me to escape from anything I’m finding tricky or emotional. But at the moment I just find myself reading the same pages several times over because I can’t remember where I’d got to.

Perhaps I should have bought some wedding-related books to dip into. Amazon has hundreds. Most are How To books – how to make the perfect speech, how to plan a perfect wedding, how to choose a perfect bouquet. Some titles made me smile.

I liked The Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Weddings (what to do if things turn out to be perfectly awful, I assume) and Buff Brides (how to be the perfect shape for your perfect day – definitely not in the same category as Bad Girl Bridesmaids: three all-new erotic tales).

There are a handful of serious books by American authors with titles such as Cinderella Dreams: The Allure of the Lavish Wedding. Another is White Weddings: Romancing Heterosexuality in Popular Culture, in which the author Chrys Ingraham argues that over-the-top weddings marry two of the most sacred tenets of American culture – romantic love and excessive consumerism.

Romantic love – now we’re talking. Jane and Rochester, Anne and Gilbert, any of the Regency romps by Georgette Heyer. And somewhere in the house I have a box of books my daughter loved when she was little. I’m sure there was a wedding in Brambly Hedge.

11 days and counting

2007-05-15T02:06:00.000-07:00

The countdown has begun in earnest. I have an outfit – actually I have a number of items which will make up the outfit once the bride-to-be casts her eye over them and decides which jacket and pair of shoes she deems most suitable for me to wear.

I am still resisting suggestions from Bridezilla to have Botox or eyebrow threading, preferring to stick with laugh lines and tweezers. It’s too late to lose a stone but I have had my highlights done.

Everything we needed to book or hire is booked or hired – and quite a lot of it is already paid for. Those who provide wedding services, it seems, work in a different way to the rest of us.

I work freelance and don’t get paid until I’ve done the job. So I’m the one who gets stuffed if the company I’m working for goes bust before I get my cheque. With weddings this works the other way round. That’s why we took out insurance.

It will pay out if the heavens open and the register office is closed due to flooding. Or the caterer gets stuck in gridlock on the Bristol ring road. Or the photographer loses her cameras before she’s downloaded the images. However, it won’t pay out if either the bride-to-be or the chosen one change their minds.

In America you can get insurance to cover every eventuality. A story in yesterday's Seattle Times notes:

Even a "change of heart" can be insured in a special option that Fireman's Fund Insurance began offering this month that costs about $25 on top of the policy. It's for those who pay for a wedding only to see the groom or bride back out, said insurance broker Rob Nuccio of RV Nuccio and Associates, who wrote the option.
"Oftentimes, there is an innocent person involved in that. There is the poor father who lays out 50 grand and he's just left dumbfounded," Nuccio said.

My husband will be pleased to know that, whatever happens, I don’t think the final total will be anywhere near that.

Empty nest

2007-05-09T02:40:00.000-07:00

Of course the wedding is my daughter’s day, but it has started to sink in that it is also another turning point for me as a mother. Maybe that’s why in the midst of all the joy and excitement I feel a little sad.

I tell myself that I’ve done my job well now that my children pay their own council tax, make their own dental appointments, put out their own rubbish. But I still miss them. I wrote this after they had both left home.

The front door opens easily
without the log-jam of trainers.
The heart-beat thud of drum and bass has stilled.
Empty sockets of contact lens containers
no longer stare up at me each morning
And there is a lone bottle of shampoo
on the side of the bath.
Food in the fridge reaches its use-by date
and when I flip the car radio on
it plays Heart 106.2.

Note to self: enough sentimental tosh.

5 flowers to avoid at weddings

2007-04-27T03:49:00.000-07:00

In the language of flowers candytuft is believed to signify indifference.

Other flowers one should avoid?
*dahlias = capriciousness
*hydrangeas = heartlessness
*oleander = caution
*larkspur (pink) = fickleness

It's probably as well that my daughter has chosen lillies and roses.

Why hens?

2007-04-26T08:40:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the hen night. Why not the doe night?

A quick Google only came up with this possible explanation on The Phrase Finder's bulletin board.

'A typical flock of chickens consisted of many hens and one rooster, if the owners were interested in breeding chicks, or many hens and no rooster if the goal was egg production. So hens hung out together, pecking and gabbling and roosters were solitary.'

Any one have any better suggestions?

Reuse, recycle ...

2007-04-24T08:29:00.000-07:00

Oxfam is appealing for more second-hand wedding dress donations because demand at its bridal outlets is booming.
The charity runs nine dedicated bridal stores in England, with an average wedding dress price of about £250.
It said more brides-to-be were seeking a cut-price option in order to give their big day a more "ethical slant".
The charity's need for more stock was highlighted by the month-long waiting list for appointments at Oxfam's bridal shop in Eastbourne, East Sussex.
Barbara Warmsley, the charity's bridal co-ordinator, said: "It's great that so many brides are coming to Oxfam for their dresses, but we are desperate for donations to meet this growing demand.
"If a donated dress sells for £250, this can provide 100 people with clean water, build two toilets, train one midwife and feed a family for a month."
Source: BBC news

Puts it all in perspective really ...

Doors to manual

2007-04-16T08:29:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago I posted 40 invitations to my daughter’s wedding ceremony and reception plus a further 40 invitations to the party in the evening. I had filled in the names, handwritten the addresses on the envelopes and tucked a specially printed map inside the specially printed and beribboned cards.

Knowing that letter writing is virtually extinct these days, I included my phone number and my email address for people to reply informally if they wished to.

So far I have had:
11 emails
6 phone calls
8 cards
1 letter
Of these, only 2 have been in response to the evening party invitation.

It’s not just a question of manners. It’s the catering. We need to have a fairly good idea of numbers so that we can order enough food and drink and let the caterers know how many staff to supply.

I’m thinking of saving on the catering and hiring bouncers to turn away anyone not on the ‘has replied’ list.

My husband says I am losing it.

Second Thoughts

2007-04-12T02:23:00.001-07:00

As the bills start to roll in for assorted wedding paraphernalia - chair hire, coat stands, confetti - I add the following to my list of surveys I wish I’d never heard about:

Market research firm OnePoll has found that a quarter of those who are married wouldn’t wed their spouse again if they had a second chance. Of those, 14 per cent would rather have married an old flame and 33 per cent felt being single was more fun.

Apparently, one in seven of us has doubts while walking up the aisle. And although most of get married for love, one in three ties the knot because he or she wants to have children, buy a house or receive gifts.

Gifts weren’t part of the equation for me. My husband’s romantic gesture of arranging the register office ceremony in secret and pretending we were going out to lunch meant that there were no presents from friends and family. Indeed my only complaint then - and all these years later – is that I missed the one opportunity I might ever have to own a set of matching bathroom towels.

Love shouts and whispers

2007-03-29T05:39:00.000-07:00

When I married my husband in Burnt Oak Register Office we seemed to be in and out in a matter of minutes. It may have been because we were the last couple before lunch and the Registrar was starving. More likely, it was the absence of hymns and prayers that sped up proceedings.

The Register office my daughter is to be married in is a far cry from the Portacabin where I got hitched. It’s a Grade II listed building that cost £2 million to restore. The press release put out by the local council when it opened for business last year said:

The Old Council House was designed and constructed under the supervision of Robert Smirke between 1823 and 1827. The neo classical building features a spectacular marble tiled staircase, a beautiful internal courtyard and a number of ornate rooms in the Greek revival style.
Much of the original furniture is still in place alongside a number of oil paintings dating back to the 18th century. Many of paintings were specially commissioned for the building, depicting scenes from Bristol's historic past.
The building is located on one of the most important historical sites in the city and archaeological work during the restoration uncovered medieval walls below the existing building and unearthed a medieval gold ring.

How appropriate is that for a wedding venue?

Anyway, it seems that couples are now encouraged to pad out the civil proceedings with poems, songs or readings, especially if they are getting married somewhere as splendid as the Lantern Room and inviting busloads of guests. I think the Registrars want everyone to feel they are getting value for money, which is a refreshing change from many of the other service providers I’ve been in touch with in my role as MOTB.

The daughter isn’t sure. We’ve both looked at various websites and the same inevitable suggestions come up time and again. Sidney’s The Bargain, Shakespeare’s sonnet 116, Donne’s Good Morrow, Barrett Browning’s How Do I Love Thee. I remembered poems that the daughter loved when she was younger and suggested Love Shouts and Whispers by Vernon Scanell - although I also pointed out that since the daughter and fiancé met at the school where they both teach, The Young and Hopeful Lover might be more apt.

It begins:
I knew that I would have to wait
Years and years before
I carried, as my bride, Miss Hyde
Through my own front door ….

And goes on:
But now I’m told she is engaged –
And this you’d never guess –
To Mr Tench who teaches French!
I’m shocked I must confess

Bizarrely, the daughter has now decided she doesn’t want anything that rhymes. Suggestions gratefully received.

Who's on the A-List?

2007-03-22T03:42:00.000-07:00

My husband says there should be a rule about weddings: never invite anyone you haven’t met at least three times.

It’s seems as good a rule as any – although since we (as the bride’s parents) are formally sending out the invitations to our daughter’s wedding that would rule out most of the bridegroom’s family including his parents.

The invitation list has been causing me a great deal of angst. Most of the time I feel like a one-woman peace-keeping force.
The husband feels that the wedding is a joyous occasion and he would like the friends who have watched our daughter grow up to share it with us. (Besides, he believes that he who pays the piper should be allowed to call at least part of the tune.)

My daughter and her fiancé feel that it’s their wedding, not ours, so their friends and colleagues should take precedence. (I can see they have a point.)

The daughter doesn’t want aunties, uncles and cousins. The fiancé does. My husband says his sisters will be upset if they are not invited. I point out that we were not invited to his niece’s wedding.

The trade-offs begin. One family friend equals how many of the groom’s mates? Is a cousin worth two aunties?
The List changes every day. Wozzers has broken up with his girlfriend so he won’t be a plus one. Tim and Susan are back together. And so it goes on.

There are, in fact, three lists. One for the ceremony and reception. One for the reception. And one for the party in the evening, to which everyone who has been to the ceremony and/or reception will also be invited.
The invitation cards have now been ordered. I just pray there will be enough to go round.

Oh my ears and whiskers

2007-03-14T08:38:00.000-07:00

I am beginning to feel like the White Rabbit. Or possibly Alice after she’d eaten the magic mushroom. Pressed for time and losing my sense of proportion. The reason? My daughter is not getting married next year. Instead, the wedding is to take place in ten weeks’ time.
That’s the bad news. The good news is that they’ve scaled down their plans.

So far:
√ the register office is booked
√ the school where they both work has agreed we can hold the reception there
√ the dinner ladies can’t do the date but I have a choice of two local caterers who can
√ my husband has found two photographers, ditto
And that’s it.
But at least we can now get the invitations out – if only we can settle the Auntie Question.

What not to watch

2007-03-07T06:37:00.000-08:00

5 films to avoid if you're having nightmares about your daughter's wedding

Kill Bill
OHMSS
Sideways
The Wedding Singer
The Runaway Bride

Hurl(e)y Burly

2007-03-06T03:07:00.000-08:00

Marriage is the result of the longing for the deep peace of the double bed after the hurly burly of the chaise longue 

Not much deep peace yet for Elizabeth Hurley. As weddings go this must be one of the longest ever. And the most expensive.
First came the secret but legal civil ceremony in the library at Sudeley Castle. Then the blessing in the church in the castle grounds. Now she’s in Rajasthan, probably being decorated with henna (is this a henna night?), in preparation for the traditional Hindu ceremony: her bridegroom will arrive on a white horse leading a procession of elephants and camels while she waits, decked out in a jewel encrusted sari. So far, so Bollywood.
At least this belt and braces approach to marriage means she won’t have made the same mistake as fellow celeb Jerry Hall who thought she had married Mick Jagger on a beach in Bali. But when the romance had died and divorce was on the cards it turned out their ‘marriage’ had never been valid under English law.
So what happens if my daughter decides to join the growing numbers of those who wed in far-flung sunny corners of the world instead of rainy Britain? How can she avoid making the same mistake as Ms Hall? I’ve discovered that overseas marriages are legal in the UK so long as you comply with all the marriage laws in the country you get married in. But – unless one of you is in or attached to the British Armed Forces – you won’t be able to register your marriage in the usual way.

You can have it recorded, though, if one or both of you is a British citizen and you married in a country that the General Register Office accepts formal notifications from. (They’re called Article 7 countries and there’s a list on www.gro.gov.uk) This involves paperwork. You have to get a certified copy of your marriage certificate from the local authorities in the country where you married. You must take this to the British Embassy in that country. They translate it, possibly for a fee, and forward it to the General Register Office in the UK (another fee). The documents are then held by the GRO so that you can ask for a copy of your marriage certificate if you need it for some reason – such as getting a divorce or proving to a high street bank that you are not an international criminal and money launderer.

Chocolate Heaven

2007-03-02T08:06:00.000-08:00

There may be something to be said for a proper wedding after all – heavenly chocolate cakes. I have just stumbled across

who make glorious chocolate wedding cakes like the one above. And they are based in Bristol – just on the daughter’s doorstep.

Just one cornetto

2007-03-02T04:02:00.001-08:00

We were sitting by the side of the Grand Canal when the gondola drifted by. Seated inside were a bride and groom in full wedding regalia. The gondolier was singing. They were smiling. We went on tucking into our pizza.
The pizza and the wedding were real enough. But the rest was fake. This wasn’t Venice, Italy. This was The Venetian in Las Vegas.
To be honest, my memories of ‘the wedding capital of the world’ are anything but fond. The husband and I were nearing the end of a two-week fly-drive holiday with our teenage son in tow. Nobody was getting on very well with anyone else.
The son was outraged that we had taken him to Vegas but he couldn’t drink, gamble or do anything remotely interesting. The husband was cross that I’d refused to do my share of the driving. And I hated the heat. And motels. And my husband. (Not necessarily in that order.)
So when my daughter suggested getting married in Las Vegas I admit I was underwhelmed. Since then I’ve done some research.
Clark County issued 112,631 marriage licences in 2006. That’s a lot of weddings. In Vegas you can have an Elvis Blue Hawaii wedding package with ‘Elvis’ performing the ceremony and singing his hit songs. Apparently, ‘This Las Vegas wedding ceremony is highlighted by a lush tropical set, hula girls dancing to Elvis' rendition of the Hawaiian Wedding Song, and theatrical fog and lighting effects. Your guests may even want to sport their best luau-wear.’
Or there’s the gangster themed wedding which includes the Godfather as the Minister plus an Italian waiter, theatrical lighting and fog (why fog?). You also get a classic bouquet with five flowers (I assume that’s five kinds of flowers, otherwise it would be more of a posy) and a live webcast during the ceremony. Now there’s an offer you can’t refuse - unless you prefer the helicopter ride to the Grand Canyon. Prices start from $3350 and for this the happy couple, plus two guests, a minister and a photographer fly over Las Vegas and the Hoover Dam, landing in the Grand Canyon on a bluff overlooking the Colorado River. Here you exchange your wedding vows (you can write these yourself if you like), enjoy a champagne picnic and pose for the photographer. Oh, and a Johnny Cash impersonator can sing at no extra charge.
All together now … I keep a close watch on this heart of mine

I read the news today ...

2007-02-28T02:22:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed how blinkered we are most of the time? Before I was expecting my daughter I never really noticed mums with babies and buggies. But once I was pregnant I saw them everywhere.
It’s the same with weddings. Now that the daughter is a just-got-engaged adult, I can’t seem to escape from them. Every time I pick up a paper or log on to the internet there’s a new story.

Fewer couples chose to tie the knot
The number of adults choosing to marry is at its lowest level since records began, according to new figures. Some 244,710 people wed in 2005 - the lowest number since 1896 - and, as the number of unmarried adults rose, it was the lowest marriage rate since 1862. (Source bbc.co.uk/news)

Five per cent of people consider a final fling
A survey of more than 2,000 people carried out by wedding website hitched.co.uk revealed that five out of every 100 would consider having a final fling before the big day. It also discovered that 26 per cent – more than one in four – had skeletons in their closet and planned to keep it that way. (Source hitched.co.uk)

My daughter and fiancé are clearly not in the first camp. It’s to be hoped they are not in the second either. In any event, the wedding plans appear to be under revision. They have completed the deal on the house they are buying together and moved in at the weekend. The daughter phones.
The loo is blocked, the washing machine can’t be plumbed in yet, they need to get the dogflap fitted urgently and the tv aeriel seem to be on the blink. She hasn’t got time to think about weddings. But perhaps Easter would be a better time than the summer because then they could go ski-ing for the honeymoon. Oh, and have we bought our new fridge/freezer yet because they’d like to come and get our old one. Oddly enough we have. Galvanised by the prospect of being without one altogether (it’s hard to deflect a daughter with a fridge/freezer in her sights) her father has surfed the internet, made two trips to what is depressingly called the retail park, and bought the one that ticked all his boxes. It was reduced by £200 but, more importantly, it dispenses chilled water and two different kinds of ice at the push of a lever. Or at least it will if our plumber ever turns up and manages to connect it to the mains water supply. But that’s another story.

When they come to collect the fridge/freezer - not to mention a sofa, two pairs of curtains and all my spare coat hangers - I try to raise the topic of an Easter wedding, aware that the timescale now appears to have shrunk. However, I gather that the Auntie Question has yet to be resolved. How many aunties do you invite? And how many cousins? Whose day is it anyway? The bride’s - or the families’? These are the kind of negotiations best settled without the intervention of a third party, especially one whose only contact with aunties, uncles, cousins and so forth was at Christmas when I accompanied my father to drop off the obligatory presents. I change the subject.

A couple of days later the daughter rings. Her best friend (the chief bridesmaid-to-be) is coming for the weekend and has suggested they look at local wedding venues. The daughter is not keen. ‘I’d rather just go off and get married in Las Vegas.’ Without aunties, presumably.

Stunned by the venue

2007-02-13T02:39:00.000-08:00

My daughter - she who is getting married – calls. They have decided they want the ceremony and reception at Ashton Court Mansion in Bristol, the city where they live and work. The venue (I’m getting the hang of wedding speak) has a special meaning for them. It’s where they walk the dog.
Not being a dog owner I’m not sure why this is so significant. Indeed, walking this particular dog has always seemed to be more of a nightmare than a dream date since it often involves altercations with other dogs, not to mention their owners, and a great deal of running round in circles on one of those very long leads (the dog, not the dogwalker).
Nevertheless, I check out the website, talk to the man who will be footing a large chunk of the bill, and pick up the phone. My daughter has told me that even though they don’t want to get married until July 2008 – 18 months away – it is necessary to book the venue as soon as possible. Vicky, who is called the Ashton Court Mansion Sales Co-ordinator, confirms this.
However, as they are offering money-off deals for some dates this year (Fantastic room hire offers for all 2007 weddings booked during January) I suspect booking a wedding venue is not unlike booking tickets with Easyjet or Ryanair.
To be sure of getting the day you want at a reasonable price you have to book as far ahead as you can. But if you are prepared to be flexible – not insisting on a Saturday, for instance - you’ll probably get a much cheaper deal nearer the time.
The daughter is not interested in being flexible. I make a provisional booking and agree to send a deposit of £1000.
Then we hit a snag. The daughter says the booking form she has specifies a minimum number of 100 guests. We were planning to have 50 to the ceremony and sit-down reception and about 100 to the evening party with a buffet. I call Vicky back to check.
“Oh no,” she says. “The minimum I would consider on a Saturday in July would be 80 for the reception.”
I am rapidly going off the idea of Ashton Court Mansion. There is almost certainly going to be another wedding going on at the same time. The wine list I have seen is uninspired and overpriced and the corkage charge is horrendous - £12.50 plus VAT per bottle of cava, for God’s sake. The grounds are open to the public until the evening and if we want to be sure we don’t have gatecrashers we will have to hire our own security.
We would have to supply and bring everything apart from food, drink, table linen, cutlery, glasses and crockery. That would include flowers. The cake. Favours (don’t ask).
And I have done some more research. The venue is run by Sodexho.
“Actually,” I tell Vicky. “I think I would rather my daughter’s wedding wasn’t done by school meal caterers.”
She bridles. “We are Sodexho Prestige. We do the catering at Blenheim Palace and Royal Ascot.”
“Exactly,” I say.

So what's wrong with eloping?

2007-01-09T08:44:00.000-08:00

I thought I was going for lunch. It was actually a wedding. Mine.
My partner had taken a day off work which, in itself, should have alerted me. And I should have wondered why he tapped his watch when my mother rang to wish me Happy Birthday just as we were leaving the house.
True, I was taken aback when he tried to overtake a slow-moving hearse as we neared the crematorium. After all, lunchtime trade in North London restaurants on a cold day in January is rarely brisk. No one minds if you turn up later than you said you would – they’re just grateful that you turn up at all.
But it wasn’t until he turned the car into the forecourt in front of Burnt Oak Register Office that light began to dawn. And when he produced a bouquet from the boot as two sets of friends jumped out from behind the bushes, I knew for sure.
So, reader, I married him. And then we went to lunch.
Everyone – except my mother – thought it was so romantic. She said she’d never get to wear a posh hat now. Even I, a one-time Women’s Libber who didn’t see the point of marriage (just a piece of paper, doesn’t prevent divorce, obey???? for goodness sake!), was moved.
But now, all these years later, I realise that the romantic gesture has not prepared me for my newest incarnation. Mother of the Bride.

Type wedding into Google and you get more than 2 million hits. No wonder M&S include cover for stress counselling in their wedding insurance policy.