Christmas Eve, at least! This is us, signing out for the festive holidays...it's a short and sweet one as Clare is busybusy packing to come home (eeeeeeeeeeeep!) and I'm 4/5 of my way into a 70 hour week at work-oh the joy!
But seriously, as we all end our year, hopefully on a high-Clare and I would like to say a HUGE thank-you to each and every one of you lovely lot who have made this foray into blogging so bloody brilliant for the both of us. We've got ideas agogo for 2011-not least hopefully being able to put up some pics of the two of us together from our cosy lunch on New Years Eve!
We hope that you'll all come back bright and breezy on the 4th January to continue being as fabulous and gorgeous as you have this year. You make Any Other Wedding what it is and for that we are eternally grateful.
Merry Christmas, or simply Happy Saturday, and all our very best hopes and wishes for you for 2011. May you all receive everything you dream of and be with someone you love.
With all our love,
Clare and Aisling x
Friday, 24 December 2010
Monday, 20 December 2010
A plea.
Hand on heart, honestly and truthfully, how many of you ladies can say that you regularly check your breasts? If I was being honest, 6 weeks ago I'd have said 'Yes. Sometimes. Um....No, not really.' 6 weeks ago I'd have balked at the idea that a fit, happy, otherwise healthy woman in her 20s, or 30s, or God forbid her teens, could fall prey to the evil bastard that is breast cancer. Not that I'm naive, in fact I'm fairly well educated in this area-I studied Diagnostic Radiography at university. I am aware of the physical, emotional and psychological effects of the disease, I understand the statistics. But breast cancer particularly is simply not associated with the aforementioned demographic. This needs to change.
6 weeks ago I was in the bath, getting ready to shave under my arms. (Armpit hair in women...WHY?!) As I lathered up, the tips of my fingers skimmed across something they shouldn't have. Even now I can't call it a lump, it wasn't the 'hard, pea-shaped lump' I so frequently read about. It was more of a squished broad bean...a 50p shaped mass of cells that, no matter what they were, defnitely shouldn't have been sitting halfway between my boob and my armpit. To cut a 3 week long story short, I am OK. Better than OK, I'm in good health and thankfully do not have breast cancer. My 'lump' is a benign mass that should go away on it's own. I'll be poked and prodded again in 6 months time to make sure everything's as it should be, but I am healthy and I am happy again.
I was going to go on to talk about those 3 weeks in more detail, how I felt and how I dealt with the 'what if's' and the 'maybe's'. How Phil and I dealt with all those things, together, as husband and wife. Suffice to say, I was a wreck and he was my hero. I think that 'in sickness and in health' needs its own post though, mostly because I don't want to detract from the real message here.
Whether you're old or young, tall or short, blonde or brunette, a doctor or a salesgirl; cancer does not discriminate. It knows no bounds and cares about nothing. It needs to be caught and it needs to be battled. I know that I'm in an odd position up here on my soapbox-I'm fine so why am I wittering on? When I first went to my GP, she was sufficiently bothered by my 'lump' to point me in the direction of CoppaFeel! If you go and take a look around Kris' AMAZING charity and take a little time to read her story, you'll see why I'm here today, bothering you the way I am. Yes, I'm fine. But somewhere out there, there might be someone who is not fine. And the more aware we all are of our bodies and how we can look after them, the more likely it is that we'll help save a life...whether it's our own or not.
Ladies, if you do nothing else today, check your breasts. Please.
6 weeks ago I was in the bath, getting ready to shave under my arms. (Armpit hair in women...WHY?!) As I lathered up, the tips of my fingers skimmed across something they shouldn't have. Even now I can't call it a lump, it wasn't the 'hard, pea-shaped lump' I so frequently read about. It was more of a squished broad bean...a 50p shaped mass of cells that, no matter what they were, defnitely shouldn't have been sitting halfway between my boob and my armpit. To cut a 3 week long story short, I am OK. Better than OK, I'm in good health and thankfully do not have breast cancer. My 'lump' is a benign mass that should go away on it's own. I'll be poked and prodded again in 6 months time to make sure everything's as it should be, but I am healthy and I am happy again.
I was going to go on to talk about those 3 weeks in more detail, how I felt and how I dealt with the 'what if's' and the 'maybe's'. How Phil and I dealt with all those things, together, as husband and wife. Suffice to say, I was a wreck and he was my hero. I think that 'in sickness and in health' needs its own post though, mostly because I don't want to detract from the real message here.
Whether you're old or young, tall or short, blonde or brunette, a doctor or a salesgirl; cancer does not discriminate. It knows no bounds and cares about nothing. It needs to be caught and it needs to be battled. I know that I'm in an odd position up here on my soapbox-I'm fine so why am I wittering on? When I first went to my GP, she was sufficiently bothered by my 'lump' to point me in the direction of CoppaFeel! If you go and take a look around Kris' AMAZING charity and take a little time to read her story, you'll see why I'm here today, bothering you the way I am. Yes, I'm fine. But somewhere out there, there might be someone who is not fine. And the more aware we all are of our bodies and how we can look after them, the more likely it is that we'll help save a life...whether it's our own or not.
Ladies, if you do nothing else today, check your breasts. Please.
Friday, 17 December 2010
A winter wedding dilemma
I am in need of some serious style advice and you lot are going to give it to me. Ok? To give you a all a little background - I am a PLAIN person. I wear plain clothes. As in no patterns. I like black. And grey. And some beige. And if I'm feeling adventurous, navy. I find it much easier to buy clothes if I stick to these colours. I can go shopping, walk around my favourite shops, spot clothes in these colours, and KNOW that they'll work with whatever else I have. If I'm feeling truly courageous, I will occasionally buy a patterned accessory, such as a scarf or some other flouncy item. Not bags though, or shoes. They should be plain. Ok...this is making me sound like a total weirdo I know - honestly, I am vaguely fashionable - the *shapes* of the clothes I buy are generally pretty cool, I just can't do patterns. It's no big deal. Ok?
So OBVIOUSLY when I went shopping for a multi purpose christmas party/winter wedding dress, I picked a nice plain dress I can put with anything.
You would think.
What I really wouldn't have bought, ever ever, would have been a LEOPARD PRINT dress. Except I did. I really did.
'How did this happen?' I hear you squeal.
God knows.
Here is an extract of an email I sent to Aisling later that day (On a side note, Aisling and I email A LOT. A LOT A LOT. I'm sure that if either of us were able to be more succint we could send nice little emails once a week or so. Instead, we send rambling messes like the following, at least three times a day. I apologise for the lack of punctuation/horrendous spelling/all round descimation of the English language, we tend not to bother with such niceties).
"PS totally unrelated but I bought a leopard skin dress to wear to Andy's works christmas party on Saturday and am now feeling nervous about it. Am I a leopard skin type of a girl? I've NEVER worn leopard skin before in my whole life. Can I pull it off? Will it look like I accidentally forgot that we don't live in the 80's? Or Texas. Or that I'm no longer 18? They don't have it on the zara website, but it is this exact dress, just leopard skin with a black velvet belt like the one shown.
 |
| No really....it's exactly like this....except in leopard print. |
I have it in black and it is my 'go to' work dress and I love it, hence my picking up the leopard skin one in the first place. But now oh god, I'm just not sure. I am the BOSSES WIFE who is ENGLISH and who THEY'VE NEVER MET, so I want to create the hi, I'm friendly, and not remotely stuck up look, combined with sophisticated enough to be not just a trophy wife, but cool and attractive enough so as not to be thought dowdy or hideous. All this bearing in mind that this is Russia, and everyone is super glam. Which I am super not. Oh and also, I would like to wear it to a black tie wedding on 29th December. Which is a lot to ask of a dress I'm aware. TELL ME HONESTLY YOUR THOUGHTS....
If it is of any interest to you whatsoever I will be wearing black opaque tights and some nice KG patent high heeled court shoes, and I have an oversized black clutch bag which I thought would do the job. And something black. Like a cardigan. Or something."
To which I received the immediate response...
"Did you breathe AT ALL whilst writing that?! I've seen that dress I've seen that dress I've seen that dress! I saw it last week when I went to Zara to by my little brother a cardigan for his brithday. Which, incidentally, cost more than nearly every item of clothing I've ever bought myself. Hmph.
But YES to the leopard print. Loving it. It's not like you're accessorizing with frosted pink lipstick, blue eyeshadows and a snow-leopard print fur coat...at least I hope you're not. THEN we would be slipping into 80s/Texas territory. Or indeed Corontation Street. But no, I think you are doing it perfectly with the all black, a long black cardigan would be perfick for the work do and then mebbes a blazer for the wedding? I LOVE the idea of leopard print at a wedding btw. Everyone else will be dressed in Monsoon evening dresses (trust me) and you'll be sophisticated and stand out and CONFIDENT. You WILL be confident, do you understand me?! You have every reason to be. 'Chin up, tits out' as my grandfather says. He's called Bernard, just as a point of interest"
But YES to the leopard print. Loving it. It's not like you're accessorizing with frosted pink lipstick, blue eyeshadows and a snow-leopard print fur coat...at least I hope you're not. THEN we would be slipping into 80s/Texas territory. Or indeed Corontation Street. But no, I think you are doing it perfectly with the all black, a long black cardigan would be perfick for the work do and then mebbes a blazer for the wedding? I LOVE the idea of leopard print at a wedding btw. Everyone else will be dressed in Monsoon evening dresses (trust me) and you'll be sophisticated and stand out and CONFIDENT. You WILL be confident, do you understand me?! You have every reason to be. 'Chin up, tits out' as my grandfather says. He's called Bernard, just as a point of interest"
To which I promptly replied (are you enjoying this? Is it REALLY boring to read other peoples emails? Yeh? Ok, I promise I won't do it again)...
"спасибо болшое (pronounced spasiba bolshoye if you cared. Oh, and means thank you big.)
I needed to check with SOMEONE because I'm pretty sure that if I show it to Andy before I've accessorized it, he's going to be convinced he's actually married Bet from Coronation Street, and beg me to wear something else. So I need to KNOW I can pull it off, and then not let him see it until I'm 'done' and then it'll be too late for him to make his opinion known anyway and he'll have to tell me I look beautiful whatever, because that is just what good husbands do. (I've been training him well).
I know, I've been trying to think of something to wear to the wedding that was kind of classy, without being all shiny, and red or green or black, or strapless and then, you know a dress with leopard print and pockets (did I mention it has pockets? Because it does, it really does, and if that doesn't make someone like a dress, I don't know what will), jumped out at me, and screamed classy but cool. But clothes often lie to me. I have a pair of trousers which jumped out at me saying I'm cool and will make you look really good with a pair of heels and they BIG FAT LIED. They actually make me look like I've tied a pair of my grandads trousers around my waist with a piece of string AND also that they are from a time when I was 3 inches shorter. So you see why I needed to check?"
I needed to check with SOMEONE because I'm pretty sure that if I show it to Andy before I've accessorized it, he's going to be convinced he's actually married Bet from Coronation Street, and beg me to wear something else. So I need to KNOW I can pull it off, and then not let him see it until I'm 'done' and then it'll be too late for him to make his opinion known anyway and he'll have to tell me I look beautiful whatever, because that is just what good husbands do. (I've been training him well).
I know, I've been trying to think of something to wear to the wedding that was kind of classy, without being all shiny, and red or green or black, or strapless and then, you know a dress with leopard print and pockets (did I mention it has pockets? Because it does, it really does, and if that doesn't make someone like a dress, I don't know what will), jumped out at me, and screamed classy but cool. But clothes often lie to me. I have a pair of trousers which jumped out at me saying I'm cool and will make you look really good with a pair of heels and they BIG FAT LIED. They actually make me look like I've tied a pair of my grandads trousers around my waist with a piece of string AND also that they are from a time when I was 3 inches shorter. So you see why I needed to check?"
So lovely ladies, what I'm asking, in this incredibly long winded way, is what is YOUR opinion on said dress? You lot strike me as pretty damn cool people (this is not to disregard Aisling's opinion in any way, I just feel it's worth checking with more than one person. She could have been having a bad day when I asked her). Is leopard skin 'in' or 'out'? Is it suitable? For the christmas party OR the wedding? Any ideas on accessorizing it? And be honest - none of this piffling 'you'll look beautiful whatever' malarkey - tell me the truth. Whilst I've still got time to go out and buy me another dress.
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
5 reasons I could NEVER live on my own.
I am a smart, savvy, independent and grounded woman. I don't take bullsh*t from anyone (except my Mother), I'm a sarcastic mare and I have experienced a fair bit in my 23 years. I can change a tyre, plumb in a washing machine and make a mean lasagne. I enjoy time on my own, whether it be wallowing in the bath, watching re-runs of NCIS or pottering around the garden. I'm a happy camper, basically.
However. Last night I watched Phil strip all the software from our computer, 'resolve' 74 viruses it had picked up and re-install all our software. In 20 minutes. Whilst playing Call of Duty and taking mouthfuls of fish pie alternately with his free hand. Now, I'm a quick learner-see above points re. tyres and washing machines. Show me once and as long as I understand the process, you'll never have to show me again. Understanding is the key for me. If I don't/can't understand something, I CANNOT learn how to do it. And so I watched my husband perform what, to me, resembled open-heart surgery on our poor computer, and I marveled. And then realised that I would be properly fiddled if I lived on my own and my computer got a virus. Which led me to think about all the other reasons I couldn't live by myself.
This isn't a deep and meaningful list by any stretch of the imagination. It is an immensely practical one though and has made me super glad that I do live with someone...who just happens to be the love of my life and my best friend. And a whizz with computers.
Reason 1.
I'd be living mostly without any modern technology. Because if I had any fancy pants tech besides an iPhone, as soon as it broke/got a virus/needed re-booting, that'd be it. Bye Bye.
Reason 2.
I'd have to buy my lunch EVERY DAY. This would be mostly due to my horrific short-term memory. (Does 12 hours count as short-term?) Every evening I either make up a packed lunch or tupperware up leftovers from dinner ready to take to work like the good-wifey-on-a-budget that I am. And every morning I leave it in the fridge and go to work. Every. Morning. So on the mornings where he leaves before me, Phil takes my lunch out of the fridge and leaves it somewhere I can't miss it. Usually protruding from my shoes by the front door. Even on his days off, whilst I'm in the bath he'll go downstairs and get my lunch out for me. True Love. Or True Awareness That I'll Spend £5 In Starbucks Every Day If I Get The Chance.
Reason 3.
I'd have to do the washing up. I maintain that I have an actual phobia of washing up. I was washing a glass 5 years ago and had my hand inside it doing the 'squeegee the bottom to get the crap off' movement, when it cracked. One trip to A&E, 19 stitches and a kitchen that looked like a set from Psycho later, I vowed never to do the washing up again. Seriously, it gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.
Reason 4.
I'd have to go in the loft. Spiders. Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big. 'Nuff said.
Reason 5.
I'd never get to eat homemade Rhubarb and Custard boiled sweets. It's the sugar thermometors/boiling points/cooling times nonsense. I don't UNDERSTAND so therefore I cannot LEARN to make them myself. Pish.
So there you have it. 5 frivolous and silly but ultimately completely true and serious reasons why I couldn't live on my own. Or rather, why I couldn't live without my husband!
And just because I finally found the camera cable, Phil and I on our honeymoon in Paris. Swooooooon. I also couldn't live without him because he's so frigging beautiful. Shallow, moi?!
However. Last night I watched Phil strip all the software from our computer, 'resolve' 74 viruses it had picked up and re-install all our software. In 20 minutes. Whilst playing Call of Duty and taking mouthfuls of fish pie alternately with his free hand. Now, I'm a quick learner-see above points re. tyres and washing machines. Show me once and as long as I understand the process, you'll never have to show me again. Understanding is the key for me. If I don't/can't understand something, I CANNOT learn how to do it. And so I watched my husband perform what, to me, resembled open-heart surgery on our poor computer, and I marveled. And then realised that I would be properly fiddled if I lived on my own and my computer got a virus. Which led me to think about all the other reasons I couldn't live by myself.
This isn't a deep and meaningful list by any stretch of the imagination. It is an immensely practical one though and has made me super glad that I do live with someone...who just happens to be the love of my life and my best friend. And a whizz with computers.
Reason 1.
I'd be living mostly without any modern technology. Because if I had any fancy pants tech besides an iPhone, as soon as it broke/got a virus/needed re-booting, that'd be it. Bye Bye.
Reason 2.
I'd have to buy my lunch EVERY DAY. This would be mostly due to my horrific short-term memory. (Does 12 hours count as short-term?) Every evening I either make up a packed lunch or tupperware up leftovers from dinner ready to take to work like the good-wifey-on-a-budget that I am. And every morning I leave it in the fridge and go to work. Every. Morning. So on the mornings where he leaves before me, Phil takes my lunch out of the fridge and leaves it somewhere I can't miss it. Usually protruding from my shoes by the front door. Even on his days off, whilst I'm in the bath he'll go downstairs and get my lunch out for me. True Love. Or True Awareness That I'll Spend £5 In Starbucks Every Day If I Get The Chance.
Reason 3.
I'd have to do the washing up. I maintain that I have an actual phobia of washing up. I was washing a glass 5 years ago and had my hand inside it doing the 'squeegee the bottom to get the crap off' movement, when it cracked. One trip to A&E, 19 stitches and a kitchen that looked like a set from Psycho later, I vowed never to do the washing up again. Seriously, it gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.
Reason 4.
I'd have to go in the loft. Spiders. Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big. 'Nuff said.
Reason 5.
I'd never get to eat homemade Rhubarb and Custard boiled sweets. It's the sugar thermometors/boiling points/cooling times nonsense. I don't UNDERSTAND so therefore I cannot LEARN to make them myself. Pish.
So there you have it. 5 frivolous and silly but ultimately completely true and serious reasons why I couldn't live on my own. Or rather, why I couldn't live without my husband!
And just because I finally found the camera cable, Phil and I on our honeymoon in Paris. Swooooooon. I also couldn't live without him because he's so frigging beautiful. Shallow, moi?!Tuesday, 14 December 2010
On becoming a wife {The Engagement}
Sorry about the weird half posting that's been going on all day ladies - here is the final version...Ok ladies....I am in a bit of a quandry, because whilst I desperately want to tell you more about The Day, I don't yet have the photographs from the photographer. And I'm pretty sure that a recap of The Day, without actually showing you any pictures, is not going to be that great is it...? So whilst we wait for them, posting will carry on as normal, and I promise *as soon* as I have them - they'll be up on here.
In the meantime, now seemed like an opportune moment to tell you about how it all began. Not how we met, because that was fairly mundane (not for me, obviously) (or him, I hope), (although actually, it did involve a ridiculous shirt, some bed linen and an incredibly cheesy chat up line...no wait... still not going to fill a whole post is it...). No, today I'm going to tell you about our engagement....
So...picture the scene....We're on holiday, trousers rolled up, walking along the golden beach under the stars, having just had the most incredible meal, the waves lapping at our feet, watching a group of people launch chinese lanterns into the night sky, when Andy turned to me, and asked me to marry him. I say yes, we hug and kiss and laugh and hug lots more. We walk back to the hotel on a huge high, still clinging on to one another, and have champagne cocktails to celebrate.
Romantic yes?
And that really did happen. And that's the story we tell when anyone asks us about it.
But it doesn't tell the whole story. What it doesn't tell, is the fact that at dinner half an hour earlier, Andy had said something about me being his future wife, and I made some snidey childish comment along the lines of that 'I most certainly WASN'T his future wife as he hadn't asked me to be his wife HAD HE?'
Which I'm well aware if taken at face value, makes me sound like a spoilt demanding little girl who stamps her feet and gets what she wants. But again, this isn't telling the whole story.
The whole story is this.
For the past three or four months we'd been discussing marriage. We'd had serious talks about it, and between us decided that it was right for us. That it was something that we wanted for us and for our future. We both said that there was no huge rush, and that we would take our time. And honestly, I wasn't in a rush. We'd already made huge commitments to one another. I'd moved to another country and given up my career for him (and that in itself is a whole other post). He'd supported me, financially and emotionally during the move and afterwards. We didn't need to prove to each other that we were committed to one another. Marriage just felt like the right next step for us. At some point.
The thing was...once we'd decided that we were going to get married, and that Andy would propose when the 'time was right', something happened to me. Whereas before I'd always felt like an equal in our relationship, I suddenly felt like I had no control over this part of our relationship. That I was just waiting for HIM to decide that HE was ready, and that the time was right for HIM. Every time we went out somewhere nice, or for a romantic walk, or even a not that romantic walk, I thought 'hey, this could be it, he might ask now, oh god, he might ask now, what if he asks now, am I ready, is this it?'. And then he didn't. So then I'd think 'why didn't he do it then, it was a nice time, why didn't he choose to do it then, I would have done it then, perhaps he he doesn't like me any more'. Which I can tell you, is not good for your mental health.
You can probably guess that being on holiday in one of the most beautiful places on the earth, with a plentiful supply of romantic moments, whilst feeling like this, I became a jibbering wreck. We were taken to a beautiful tropical island, and left with the whole island to ourselves for the day, and it didn't happen. We watched the sun go down over the horizon, whilst drinking cocktails in the infinity pool, and it didn't happen. Romantic meal on the beach? Nothing. Sun rise walk along the beach? Nothing, nada, nilch (is that a word?).
The crazy thing was, before we'd agreed to agree to get married, I'd never felt like this. I am known for being calm and chilled out and relaxed (often, TOO relaxed). And yet this one thing had the ability to turn me into the stereotype that the media so love to portray. The ring hungry woman who can't wait for her boyfriend to propose. Realising this doesn't exactly boost your confidence I can tell you.
What I didn't know that night, when Andy made the 'future wife' comment, and I made my pathetic remark, was that Andy already had a ring on order. That he'd already spoken to my dad about it. That he was planning on proposing the following week, when we got home so that a) he'd have the ring, and b) it could be in a place that meant something to us and that we could go back to as often as we liked.
But after my silly snidey remark, he decided that he should just ask me then,. That very night. So fifteen minutes later, he asked me to go for a walk with him, along the beach, and then he turned to me, and asked me to marry him. And it was truly truly lovely. It really was. And part of me wouldn't change it for the world. But a little tiny part of me wishes I'd been a lttle more patient. If I could have been more patient, and not snapped every time it was mentioned, and just maybe relinquished control for a little while, it could have been done the way he wanted it. I'm still a litle bit sad about that. It took the shine off it a bit. For him, and for me.
Ok, so now I have that off my chest, please tell me all of your actual fairytale engagement stories to brighten up this grey drizzly day.
Please. Thanksverymuch.
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Belief
Morning all! It's now 14 shopping days 'til Christmas! Raise your hands if, like yours truly, you'll be doing the majority of your shopping and wrapping on that 14th day...and if you're all done, with labels written and ribbons tied, PIPE DOWN. I don't want to hear it. Thanks.
Today should be a post that I promised to you all a couple of weeks ago, a post written by an AMAZING lady who I've only just had the pleasure of getting to know properly. At the time of her wedding back in July she was the friend of a friend and it was only when I was shopping with said friend for an outfit for her to wear to said wedding, that I realised just how special this girly is. Scrap that, how special she is, he is, their families are and their relationship is. In the interests of being totally upfront and honest, due to both their professions, we've had to make the decision not to use their real names. All very Crimewatch, I know! You will shortly, therefore, be learning all about the relationship of Emily and James.
I have also made a decision. To preface their story with a whole post rather than just an introduction. Because it's on a topic close to my heart and I have very strong opinions on it. We talked about Christmas this week, so many of you shared stories and we universally recognised that what is right for one person, one little family, might not be right for another. I wholly advocate this; to strip it right back, it's the old adage 'Different strokes for different folks'. We are none of us the same and it's our experiences and morals and gut instinct that make us, us. With this in mind, I ask that you afford me the same consideration regarding what I'm going to say today. Because I KNOW that a lot of you will be able to state the conflicting argument to mine with great clarity and conviction and I am both looking forward to this and 100% ready to respect and endeavour to understand your opinions.
I was born and raised a Catholic. An Irish Catholic, no less, the first grandchild born to the youngest daughter of devout Northern Irish Catholics. My mother's religious upbringing was, as the times dictated, strict. When she was able, she left Ireland and adopted what has become known in the media as 'Cafeteria Catholicism', picking and choosing the parts of her family's religion that she was happy to live with on a daily basis. No sex before marriage was obviously left on the counter in the cafeteria, I've touched before on the shotgun wedding of my parents! I was baptised as a Roman Catholic, as were my brothers. My youngest brother was desperately sick as a newborn and such was my mother's belief at the time that he was baptised on the ward, in the hospital with two random paedeatric nurses as his godparents; lest he die and not be able to enter Heaven because he'd not been cleansed of his original sin. Thankfully, he pulled through and has become a most incredibble young man. We all did our First Holy Communion and all recieved medals from our Grandparents for doing so. I went so far as to be Confirmed, at Arundel Cathedral on a blazing hot June day in 2002. Every Sunday in the years between, we went to Church. We travelled an hour to school because it was the nearest Catholic one, rather than the 10 minute walk to the local comprehensive. My Grandparents, since my Grandfather achieved remission from prostate cancer, have attended Church every day. Every single day. No matter what country they're in, what time of day they are able to go, they go. And whilst they'll credit medicine and science for winning the fight against the cancer-my Grandfather was a doctor-they both believe with unshakeable conviction that God was there with them.
I tell you all this not to bore you to tears, but to provide the basis for my confession. I haven't been to church except for perversely, a wedding and four funerals, for 8 years. I haven't actively believed in God for those 8 years and was questioning what I had spent a lifetime learning for a year before that. I don't want this to become a massive theological discussion, I am no closer to identifying myself as an atheist or an agnostic than I was 9 years ago. I simply cannot follow the religion I was born into. With this in mind, I said from the outset that we wouldn't marry in a church. Whilst I'll advocate communication and compromise in a relationship until the cows come home, this was not something Phil would have been able to move me on. Perhaps if he had specific religious beliefs things would have been harder. As it is, and with his rather bland religious background, he was happy to acquiesce. To those that did raise an eyebrow and there were very few, I simply said that I would feel hypocritical. At no point did I stand on my soapbox and attempt to force my feelings on anyone else and that's not what I'm going to do now. I just couldn't see how I could stand in front of God (see-I subconsciously wrote that, so I must believe in SOMETHING?!) and declare myself to be committed to pursuing a life in his image.
It's not just weddings. I have recently turned down the complete and utter honour of being a godparent to a newborn in our extended family because her parents were asking for people to help raise their daughter in the Catholic Church. How could I do that? How could I help to teach this precious soul all that I learnt in my formative years about religion and God and Heaven when I all but turned my back on it in my teens? When I declined, with a full explanation and tears in my eyes, her parents were gracious and understanding and their baby has a pair of far better qualified godparents to assist her in her spiritual learning.
I suppose that to return to my earlier metaphor, I've bypassed the 'cafeteria' altogether. Undoubtedly my schooling has shaped the person I've become, helped to hone my values, morals and ethics and who knows if these would be much different had I attend a non-denominational school? I like to think I'd be the same person...but I'm not so stupid as to think that of everything I learnt, nothing has stayed with me. Similarly with the effort my Mum put into my religious upbringing. She won't mind me saying, as it's something we've discussed at length, that once I had been Confirmed, she felt that she could breathe a sigh of relief. She'd done her duty and raised a good Irish Catholic grandchild for her parents. Apart from the times she has taken my Grandparents to Church when they've beenhere visiting, she hasn't been to Church in 8 years either. For much the same reasons as I. General confusion, a reluctance to investigate faith too deeply for fear of the theological/psychological/philosophical arguments that arise so quickly. My Grandparents continue to pray for everyone they know; their generousity is untempered by the beliefs of others, it simply matters to them that they have their faith. 'Different strokes for different folks'...a favourite saying of my Grandfathers!
So. I have subjected you to this rambling for a good reason, I promise. If it helps, (which it probably won't) this is whole lot longer than I was expecting it to be! Emily and James' story is an exceptional one in my eyes. When they married in July, they did so in front of God as Roman Catholics. And not of the 'Cafeteria' variety. When they came home after their honeymoon and crossed the threshold, they did so as Husband and Wife and they did so for the first time. They hadn't lived together. They hadn't slept together. They'd attended Church every week, prayed, confessed and in James' case, been baptised. For he wasn't a Roman Catholic when he started dating Emily. It's an utterly fascinating story and it definitely wasn't an easy ride and we're so honoured to be sharing their story with you.
If I hadn't written all of this today, I'd have felt compelled to do so as a 'comment' on Monday...that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!
Today should be a post that I promised to you all a couple of weeks ago, a post written by an AMAZING lady who I've only just had the pleasure of getting to know properly. At the time of her wedding back in July she was the friend of a friend and it was only when I was shopping with said friend for an outfit for her to wear to said wedding, that I realised just how special this girly is. Scrap that, how special she is, he is, their families are and their relationship is. In the interests of being totally upfront and honest, due to both their professions, we've had to make the decision not to use their real names. All very Crimewatch, I know! You will shortly, therefore, be learning all about the relationship of Emily and James.
I have also made a decision. To preface their story with a whole post rather than just an introduction. Because it's on a topic close to my heart and I have very strong opinions on it. We talked about Christmas this week, so many of you shared stories and we universally recognised that what is right for one person, one little family, might not be right for another. I wholly advocate this; to strip it right back, it's the old adage 'Different strokes for different folks'. We are none of us the same and it's our experiences and morals and gut instinct that make us, us. With this in mind, I ask that you afford me the same consideration regarding what I'm going to say today. Because I KNOW that a lot of you will be able to state the conflicting argument to mine with great clarity and conviction and I am both looking forward to this and 100% ready to respect and endeavour to understand your opinions.
I was born and raised a Catholic. An Irish Catholic, no less, the first grandchild born to the youngest daughter of devout Northern Irish Catholics. My mother's religious upbringing was, as the times dictated, strict. When she was able, she left Ireland and adopted what has become known in the media as 'Cafeteria Catholicism', picking and choosing the parts of her family's religion that she was happy to live with on a daily basis. No sex before marriage was obviously left on the counter in the cafeteria, I've touched before on the shotgun wedding of my parents! I was baptised as a Roman Catholic, as were my brothers. My youngest brother was desperately sick as a newborn and such was my mother's belief at the time that he was baptised on the ward, in the hospital with two random paedeatric nurses as his godparents; lest he die and not be able to enter Heaven because he'd not been cleansed of his original sin. Thankfully, he pulled through and has become a most incredibble young man. We all did our First Holy Communion and all recieved medals from our Grandparents for doing so. I went so far as to be Confirmed, at Arundel Cathedral on a blazing hot June day in 2002. Every Sunday in the years between, we went to Church. We travelled an hour to school because it was the nearest Catholic one, rather than the 10 minute walk to the local comprehensive. My Grandparents, since my Grandfather achieved remission from prostate cancer, have attended Church every day. Every single day. No matter what country they're in, what time of day they are able to go, they go. And whilst they'll credit medicine and science for winning the fight against the cancer-my Grandfather was a doctor-they both believe with unshakeable conviction that God was there with them.
I tell you all this not to bore you to tears, but to provide the basis for my confession. I haven't been to church except for perversely, a wedding and four funerals, for 8 years. I haven't actively believed in God for those 8 years and was questioning what I had spent a lifetime learning for a year before that. I don't want this to become a massive theological discussion, I am no closer to identifying myself as an atheist or an agnostic than I was 9 years ago. I simply cannot follow the religion I was born into. With this in mind, I said from the outset that we wouldn't marry in a church. Whilst I'll advocate communication and compromise in a relationship until the cows come home, this was not something Phil would have been able to move me on. Perhaps if he had specific religious beliefs things would have been harder. As it is, and with his rather bland religious background, he was happy to acquiesce. To those that did raise an eyebrow and there were very few, I simply said that I would feel hypocritical. At no point did I stand on my soapbox and attempt to force my feelings on anyone else and that's not what I'm going to do now. I just couldn't see how I could stand in front of God (see-I subconsciously wrote that, so I must believe in SOMETHING?!) and declare myself to be committed to pursuing a life in his image.
It's not just weddings. I have recently turned down the complete and utter honour of being a godparent to a newborn in our extended family because her parents were asking for people to help raise their daughter in the Catholic Church. How could I do that? How could I help to teach this precious soul all that I learnt in my formative years about religion and God and Heaven when I all but turned my back on it in my teens? When I declined, with a full explanation and tears in my eyes, her parents were gracious and understanding and their baby has a pair of far better qualified godparents to assist her in her spiritual learning.
I suppose that to return to my earlier metaphor, I've bypassed the 'cafeteria' altogether. Undoubtedly my schooling has shaped the person I've become, helped to hone my values, morals and ethics and who knows if these would be much different had I attend a non-denominational school? I like to think I'd be the same person...but I'm not so stupid as to think that of everything I learnt, nothing has stayed with me. Similarly with the effort my Mum put into my religious upbringing. She won't mind me saying, as it's something we've discussed at length, that once I had been Confirmed, she felt that she could breathe a sigh of relief. She'd done her duty and raised a good Irish Catholic grandchild for her parents. Apart from the times she has taken my Grandparents to Church when they've beenhere visiting, she hasn't been to Church in 8 years either. For much the same reasons as I. General confusion, a reluctance to investigate faith too deeply for fear of the theological/psychological/philosophical arguments that arise so quickly. My Grandparents continue to pray for everyone they know; their generousity is untempered by the beliefs of others, it simply matters to them that they have their faith. 'Different strokes for different folks'...a favourite saying of my Grandfathers!
So. I have subjected you to this rambling for a good reason, I promise. If it helps, (which it probably won't) this is whole lot longer than I was expecting it to be! Emily and James' story is an exceptional one in my eyes. When they married in July, they did so in front of God as Roman Catholics. And not of the 'Cafeteria' variety. When they came home after their honeymoon and crossed the threshold, they did so as Husband and Wife and they did so for the first time. They hadn't lived together. They hadn't slept together. They'd attended Church every week, prayed, confessed and in James' case, been baptised. For he wasn't a Roman Catholic when he started dating Emily. It's an utterly fascinating story and it definitely wasn't an easy ride and we're so honoured to be sharing their story with you.
If I hadn't written all of this today, I'd have felt compelled to do so as a 'comment' on Monday...that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
Family Festive
Christmas. Traditionally a time for, well, traditions. Usually family ones, but there are also the Christmas Eve nights spent in the pub with old friends; same pub and same friends, every year. Midnight Mass in the village, Flight of the Navigator at 3pm on Christmas Day, toothpaste and a new toothbrush in your stocking. (Just me?! My Mum is such a numpty.)
It’s our first Christmas as Mr and Mrs. Certainly not our first co-habiting Christmas, this will be the 4th of those. There was the first one where I spent Christmas Eve night in the stinky House of Trouser where Phil lived with his four best friends, just so we could wake up together on our first Christmas Day. Our second festive holiday together was spent with Phil’s family; my first experience of a family Christmas that wasn’t my own and I loved it. It was different in so many ways to what I was used to; a little more formal, a lot more people coming and going throughout the day, a LOT more presents and a lot less board games! Our third Christmas we spent with my family. Almost perfect. I was 20, a young woman and a stroppy teenager all wrapped up in a body that didn’t know whether to settle by my Daddy’s feet to watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ or curl up on the sofa with my boyfriend. It was easy to decide that our fourth Christmas would be spent in our home, just us two and our kitten. Utterly perfect. I wore soft pyjamas and fluffy slippers, accessorized with my new diamond necklace. I snuggled on our sofa with our kitten and read my book. Phil cooked a beautiful five course meal that he’d been practising in pieces for weeks. He loved it, I loved it and our new family tradition was born.
This year it was clear to us what we would do. We would do exactly what we did last year. Our baby family would continue it’s traditions. We have made a conscious decision to not spend Christmas with either family in the foreseeable future but to concentrate on building ‘us’. It sounds slightly harsh when I read it back, rest assured we’re planning to spend plenty of time with all branches of both families in the New Year! But to my mind, a family has to build it’s foundations somewhere. Whether you start with changing your name, or moving into a brand new home as husband and wife, or holding onto the little things that make ‘home’ for you. We’ve laid our foundations and we’re building up, layer by layer. Starting with our Christmas.
It's ruffled a few feathers, namely his mother's. Deep breathe, I'm going to be vaguely controversial; we don't get on. But that's another story. Phil's Dad and Stepmammy are totally cool with it and my parents couldn't give a toffee apple. In short, they understand that we are each other's primary family now and that the decisions we're making are taking US into account, first and foremost. We're lucky to have solid, understanding and happy families who want what's best for us. One of my very best friends has a 6 week old baby and in the last fortnight she's had to contend with every branch of their families assuming that her brand new little family will be with them for Christmas, leading to several arguments and one episode of tears. Another of our friends, the only other married couple we socialise with, will leave their house at 6.30am on Christmas morning and drive a grand total of 320 miles over the course of the day. They'll stop at her parents for presents and breakfast, see his Grandma for presents and lunch, and do his parents for presents and dinner. Then they'll get home, too late for Doctor Who and too tired to do anything but sleep. They've done this every year for the last 7 years. When they made tentative noises about staying at home with their kitten this year, you'd have thought they'd announced that Santa wasn't real in a room full of 5 year olds. They can't break the traditions they've made. They won't and they can't. Torture.
We're quite confident that we're not being selfish. We see all the little pockets of our families, spread all over the country with the scatter-pattern of a bag of marbles dropped from a great height, frequently. We use long weekends with the in-laws in Exeter as 'down-time'. (When our plans actually go to plan!) We use dinner with my family as 'forget your crappy day and get piddled' time. We drive up to beautiful Norfolk to stay with his Aunt and Uncle and we bolt to Brighton to stay in my godmother's castle-gate-keeper-cottage. We love our families, totally and utterly. They're some of my favourite people on the planet. But my very favouritest person in the whole entire universe is my husband. And in 30 years time I want our children-if we are lucky enough to be blessed with them-to be confident enough in our love for them and in our desire for them to be happy, to stay at home with their kittens and their babies and make their own traditions.
It's ruffled a few feathers, namely his mother's. Deep breathe, I'm going to be vaguely controversial; we don't get on. But that's another story. Phil's Dad and Stepmammy are totally cool with it and my parents couldn't give a toffee apple. In short, they understand that we are each other's primary family now and that the decisions we're making are taking US into account, first and foremost. We're lucky to have solid, understanding and happy families who want what's best for us. One of my very best friends has a 6 week old baby and in the last fortnight she's had to contend with every branch of their families assuming that her brand new little family will be with them for Christmas, leading to several arguments and one episode of tears. Another of our friends, the only other married couple we socialise with, will leave their house at 6.30am on Christmas morning and drive a grand total of 320 miles over the course of the day. They'll stop at her parents for presents and breakfast, see his Grandma for presents and lunch, and do his parents for presents and dinner. Then they'll get home, too late for Doctor Who and too tired to do anything but sleep. They've done this every year for the last 7 years. When they made tentative noises about staying at home with their kitten this year, you'd have thought they'd announced that Santa wasn't real in a room full of 5 year olds. They can't break the traditions they've made. They won't and they can't. Torture.
We're quite confident that we're not being selfish. We see all the little pockets of our families, spread all over the country with the scatter-pattern of a bag of marbles dropped from a great height, frequently. We use long weekends with the in-laws in Exeter as 'down-time'. (When our plans actually go to plan!) We use dinner with my family as 'forget your crappy day and get piddled' time. We drive up to beautiful Norfolk to stay with his Aunt and Uncle and we bolt to Brighton to stay in my godmother's castle-gate-keeper-cottage. We love our families, totally and utterly. They're some of my favourite people on the planet. But my very favouritest person in the whole entire universe is my husband. And in 30 years time I want our children-if we are lucky enough to be blessed with them-to be confident enough in our love for them and in our desire for them to be happy, to stay at home with their kittens and their babies and make their own traditions.
I know for certain that Clare will have an alternate view to mine-living in another country is going to have all sorts of effects on how you build your family life! What about all you other ladies? How will you be spending the festive season and how did you make your decision?
Monday, 6 December 2010
On becoming a wife {Friday}
The final day of the preceding week.
Before the day has even really started, I have an altercation with a woman in the post office. This may be related to wedding stress, but at the time I'm convinced it is just down to her stupidity. Looking back, I may have been in the wrong.
Afterwards, we load our suitcases and bags and boxes into the car, as we’ve done many times this week, with each stop collecting more detritus. I’m briefly concerned that we have to pack everything into two suitcases in 48 hours, but push this to the back of my mind. Later I will realise that I should have thought further about this, but for now, I am getting married tomorrow, and that is what I will focus on. We meet my mum and step dad for lunch, where my mum gives me the ring that my granny left to me 17 years ago. We tell the story to Andy, of the time 25 years previous, when I had been playing with my granny’s jewellery, and I had decided that one was so damn pretty I should take it home with me. Once discovered, I duly returned said ring, but was left it in her will 8 years later, to be given to me on my wedding day. At this moment I feel like a tiny little girl and a real grown up, all at the same time, and I am close to tears. We eat carrot and coriander soup with thick granary bread and butter with chunks of salt in, and talk about practical things, which we all feel more comfortable with, rather than things that might make us cry.
It is 3.30pm and I am in the suite in the house with some of my best friends in the world. Later it will be only me and my two bridesmaids staying in this huge room, but for now it feels full, as people drift in and out bringing presents and questions and love. We are sat in the window, wrapping ribbon the colour of skin around heavy linen napkins, watching people arrive in the rain. Everyone is excited and hopeful, and hugging, and smiling huge great smiles, and talking about tomorrow, and at that moment I catch Andy’s eye. I feel like I have been wrapped up in ribbon myself.
It is 6.30pm and we are at the church for the rehearsal, and I have been asked many times whether I am nervous yet. But the strange sense of calm that I’ve been feeling all week, has settled even lower over me, and I feel detached yet present. Whilst my bridesmaids nervously whisper together about how terrified they are to be walking down the aisle in front of everyone, Andy and I practice saying our vows. At the end I don’t feel comfortable saying ‘I will’, because that would take away from tomorrow’s moment, so I say ‘maybe’, which gets me a look from the vicar and a chuckle from the rest of the church. As we leave ,the vicar tells me he’s never seen a bride so calm the day before the wedding, and I take it as a compliment, though I’m not sure it was meant as one.
We go straight from the church to our meal in the village pub. There are nearly 20 of us, and we take up over half of the pub, but no-one seems to mind. Our family and friends from across the world are here and I stand and watch in awe as all of them cross barriers in language, and age, and culture, and are soon discussing detective novels, Tibetan Terriers, scotch eggs, and various other assorted topics, none of which I would have guessed they would have had in common. As we leave, several of us notice the guy from a house programme on the TV stood at the bar, and as we walk out we all try to remember his name and the TV programme. It is only when I turn around to check that we have everybody, that I realise that he has walked out of the pub behind us, and is now listening to everyone discuss the relative merits of his show versus the other ones, whilst desperately trying, and failing, to remember his name.
I am back in the hotel and I’ve said good night to Andy. My bridesmaids are still anxiously discussing the moment of walking down the aisle, and I selfishly feel disappointed that they can’t be more excited for me, rather than worried about themselves, even though I know they are both shy, and this is a big deal for them, and I should just be grateful that they are doing it at all. Even though I’ve not admitted it, I’m also nervous now. Nervous about the day going well, nervous about people enjoying themselves, nervous about whether my dress will be ok. I am not in any way nervous about marrying Andy, and I take that as a good sign. In fact, as I lie in bed, hoping for sleep, I find myself wishing that tomorrow could be over, and it could be Sunday, and Andy and I could be driving away, as man and wife, into our future together. Nobody warned me that I would feel this low the night before the wedding, or that I wouldn’t be excited. It is at this very moment that I know that I have no doubts, or reservations, or worries about marrying Andy. I would do it without this wedding circus that I have created, and so looked forward to for the last 11 months, just to be married to him.
Tonight I will hear the chimes of the bells of the church on every hour.
Tomorrow I will marry my best friend.
Friday, 3 December 2010
Lovely Lucy and Tom...A Short and Sweet Engagement
Phil and I were engaged for 7 months and 18 days. Though we knew we would one day say 'I Do', I was adamant that there would be no more than a year between 'Will you...?' and 'I now pronounce you...'. I'll be VERY honest here, I just don't see the point. Congratulating the glowing girlie showing off her sparkling ring and asking 'When?!' only to be told 2018...I don't understand. I am, however, very open to explanations and reasoning. Maybe one day soon, we'll do a debate-inspiring piece on it, as I fear I may hijack the yummy-scrumptious story of another couple's short and oh-so-sweet engagement and wedding here! I hand you over to the incredibly sweet and infinitely talented Lucy....
I thought in a moment of impulse I'd write and tell you about our wedding, which happened this summer in our village church. We diy-ed our afternoon reception in my parents' field, in a big canvas tent. Then we left for our honeymoon leaving our guests to revel into the night and toast our good health (drink the bar dry). I have been a wife for three wonderful little months and I thought I'd share our story. I have a tendency to go on a bit especially about all things wedding but here goes...
My husband and I knew from the outset what we wanted our wedding to be like. We had a short engagement on purpose because we wanted it to be simple, lovely and relaxed - we were both adamant that the wedding planning would not steal years of our lives or of our savings. Maybe we were a little bit scared it would run away with us if we had enough time to let it get out of hand. When people asked us what our theme was we mumbled something about a wedding type theme..? I guess you could say that from there, our approach to planning was a bit of an oxymoron - it was militantly relaxed. If we thought we were making things too complicated we stopped and did an about turn. As it turned out, it suited us fine not to complicate things with lots of guests, elaborate themes, entertainment, large wedding parties or wedding bumpf the industry says you need. We weren't being mean or lazy by leaving these things to one side, and we do think that these things can make a bloody good wedding but we stuck to our guns and just focused on the important bits to us. In the end, our day really was all the things we had hoped for. But it was much, much more to boot. I think some of the best bits were things that just happened, that we hadn't planned for and that says it all really about what's important.
It was simple and the planning didn't take too much effort in the first flourishes. We booked our ceremony and my parents offered their field to host the reception within 2 weeks of the proposal. Within a month we had made a guest list, chosen invitations, ordered my dress, booked the marquee and the photographer and chosen flowers.
People said we 'didn't hang around', like it was a bad thing! But doing it all at the start meant we had a fun newly engaged rush of dashing around choosing things and then months of not planning a single thing and that was actually rather nice. It left me lots of time to daydream about what our day would be like and what it would be like to be a wife to my wonderful man. I do love a good bit of daydreaming.
But even so I, like so many otherwise 'normal' (!) rational, reasonably intelligent women, found so many things to fret over and I did doubt and challenge our choices at times, no matter what people said to try and stop me. My aunt told me it was because women take their weddings too seriously and think every decision they make is so important when it really isn't. But that was what we had been so strongly against, we were trying to go with the flow but I couldn't stop myself from letting it matter what the day turned out like if that makes sense?
I think part of the anxiety was down to the fact that we knew the run up closer to the day was going to be intense because of the diy. I don't mean diy as in tons of pretty handmade details of the type that grace magazines and drool worthy blogs, although we had a few small bits of pretty. I mean diy as in washing and drying hundreds of glasses and cutlery, putting up tables, ironing tablecloths and setting places, buying (and growing) enough food and calculating enough drink for the free bar, finding enough room to refrigerate it all and then putting it all together to hopefully look pretty and wedding-y enough. We didn't have caterers to oversee the day and make sure it ran to plan so we roped in some helpers and they made sure food was put out and cleared away and that the bar was well stocked. Actually they ended up taking it upon themselves to do loads more than that - they were worth their weight in gold. All of our kind of diy gets overlooked if you go to a venue, most if not all of it is done for you without you having to give it a second thought. I will admit there were times when I doubted whether we had made the right choice!
I know we were not alone in the more challenging moments to think 'why are we even doing this, I just wish we were already married'. I started googling elopements like a frenzied crazy lady for goodness sake, which was pointless as we had no intention of cancelling the day and eloping. I wasted many hours looking at other people's drop dead gorgeous weddings (and pretending to my husband to be that I wasn't) and generally feeling intense jealousy at how well organised everyone elses days seemed.
I guess that unless women are bold enough to say, you know what, wedding planning isn't always all it's cracked up to be, what you are feeling is NORMAL because I felt like that too, women are going to carry on stressing that they are the anomaly or a dare I utter its name... a bridezilla. Thankfully more places are springing up for women to voice these kind of things, which is why I love AOW.
Almost all my stresses about the day melted away as soon as the wedding day dawned. I was still nervous of course, but I can categorically confirm that none of the things that didn't quite go to 'plan' actually mattered. We didn't have any crises; it was all minor detail stuff that most people wouldn't have noticed anyway. I'm not even going to go into it, because when I wrote all the things down it sounded too trivial to concern you with and it made me laugh out loud. So I pressed delete.
I know that some women just won't believe that they will overlook all the little things that don't quite work out on the day. To be honest, I wouldn't have thought it would happen to me if I was reading this before my wedding but there you go. The way my husband managed things was to think, will this matter a year after the wedding. If the answer is ‘No’ then move on.
If I had to say what I would do differently I'd probably say I should've stopped reading pretty wedding blogs because I did drive myself to distraction thinking about all the different types of wedding days we could have. But who am I kidding?! I still read them, three months a married woman, and I drink in all the beauty, design and drama of other people's days. There is something so pivotal, so alluring about how people celebrate the milestone of marriage that I can't turn my back on it.
*All images by the evidently extremely talented Emma Cleveley *
*All images by the evidently extremely talented Emma Cleveley *
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