2012 seems to be the year of weddings. So far this year, I’ve attended three, with one more very important one to come in November. My friends have been unexpectedly considerate in their scheduling – the first was in April, the next in June, the most recent, Ally and Louis’s, last weekend – so I’ve had pleasant gaps between them to remember how lovely they were.
There’s not much I like more than a good wedding. I love the build up – getting the invitation, perusing the gift list, choosing the outfit. And the day itself! The clothes, the people, The Dress, the bridesmaids, the food… but mostly I love how happy everyone is, all day long, even when they’ve been wearing uncomfortable shoes for eight hours straight.
I do have one rather unfortunate wedding tradition, though. In my growing excitement about the big day, I’m always in the mood for fun, and this sometimes leads to a rather late night before the wedding day itself… This time, though, I was determined to beat the curse. By eight o’clock on the night before Ally’s wedding I had enjoyed dinner with my in-laws, left the Daughter there for a sleepover, headed back to Mum and Dad’s and taken off my make up, showered and washed my hair, put on my pyjamas, put my hair up in bunches to dry, and was ready to curl up on the sofa with the Husband and my brother, Uncle Mike, to watch a trashy movie and get an early night.
Then my other brother, Uncle Kip, called, to say that his band were playing in the pub, three minutes walk down the road. And since Kip’s band are really great…
So I got dressed again, slapped on some make up, and dragged the boys down the road to the pub. I still had hopes of a reasonably early night, though. We had to drive to Chorley at 9.30 the next morning, and the Husband is usually very sensible about dragging me home at an appropriate time. Besides, the band would have finished by 11ish, and we were literally three minutes away from our beds. How hard could it be?
At 11.30, just as the band finished playing, our parents, en route home from a rather wine-soaked 65th birthday celebration, and with friends in tow, texted to ask where we were. We replied, and were told to stay where we were, they’d be there in a moment…
By 1.30, my mother was playing the acoustic guitar, we were taking requests, being offered drinks, and the landlord appeared to be staging a lock in. At which point I started having flashbacks to the beginning of Four Weddings and a Funeral, and joined my father in dragging everyone home before the next morning became an inevitable reenactment.
Amazingly, we made the wedding in good spirits and managed to party until midnight. And most importantly, the bride wasn’t too cross with me. In fact, I think she rather wished she could have been there!
Anyway. The actual point of this post was to say how appropriate it is that I’m so overtaken with wedding fever this year, as I’m hard at work on the third book in my Love from Wales series, currently titled Summer of Love, and entirely based around a summer of weddings. So all this love, marriage and merriment has been providing me with some great material. Ideas for dresses, themes, and even the rather unconventional way one mother of the bride secured great weather for the big day…
I suppose I’d better get back to actually writing it, rather than looking at wedding photos and pretending it’s research. Oh well.