Planning a wedding is a daunting task. It is also one I never thought I would be doing. Not that I am staunchly feminist, determinedly single or for any particular reason. It is just not something I dreamt about as a child (which is, according to all those glossy magazine, a regular past time for little girls) it isn’t something I planned as I moved through university, I didn’t gaze into bridal windows or make note when hearing a particularly romantic song. When I met my then boyfriend and he informed me early on that he didn’t want to marry, I was fairly ok with that.

Move on 12 years and here we are engaged and planning that wedding. After all, we are allowed to change our minds.  I began tentatively, looking at local venues online and emailing relatively anonymous requests for brochures. Then driving around a few and having a quick look at rooms and gardens. And suddenly, perhaps a little belatedly, the wedding bug bit.

No detail is too small, no decision has ever seemed so important. Should the dress be floor length or have a train? Is a train even suitable for a thirty something with 2 children? How high should the heels on my shoes be? A formal long head table, or rounds? Ivory napkins or white? After three weeks of discussion, surely a decision should be made over bay or rose trees.

Less than 3 months to go – 86 days to be precise – let’s hope things are finalised in time. And please people – RSVP!

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