Feathers, Kidston and jam jars, oh my!

You're going to think I have become obsessed with decor, and the truth is I have. This was always going to happen - I'm a person who even managed to change The Sims from a strategic life simulation video game (thanks Wikipedia!) to a delightful Grand Designs-style hobby, where I take on the role of a God-like Kevin McCloud, building and decorating properties for my pixels to live in. As a result, the look of our wedding has become something of an obsession.

Unfortunately, this brings me back to the tasteful versus personal dilemma. And once again, I would like to place the blame for causing this panic squarely on the growing number of edgy brides chipping away at my confidence in their magazine and blog interviews.

I have seen countless pictures of falling-down barns and ruined chapels decked out in bunting, antique bicycles waiting to be pedalled off into the sunset, tables set up in rose gardens and adorned with vintage lace tablecloths and jam jars filled with freshly-cut wildflowers. All of this is delightful - a Cath Kidston-esque mix of personal and informal (and we'll ignore the fact that quaint by Cath costs more than edgy Scandinavian by Ikea, meaning the price is far from shabby chic).

The problem is, I am tying the knot in inner-city Manchester. In February. There will be no wild flowers to cut, the bike will be stolen, the lace tablecloths will blow away, and the jam jars will just look a little bit sad and will probably be filled with nothing but my tears at realising my total failure at decorating a wedding.

That's the point - there's actually a great deal of effort that goes into shabby chic and it's never as thrown together as it looks. So, do I instead go for something more timeless, like candelabras and roses arranged tastefully by a florist rather than flung on the table by me? The problem here is money, as the cost of professional table centrepieces is so expensive it would be cheaper for me to arrange five lottery tickets for each person in a pile - and the guests would probably appreciate that more too.

Anyway, after spending weeks and several blog posts obsessing over décor, I decided I should just get over myself and make a decision. So, I took decisive action and bought some peacock feathers with the thought of arranging them in vases - simple, naturally beautiful, quirky and vintage. Unfortunately, I have since learnt that peacock feathers bring bad luck. And remembered I don't like touching feathers. And have a fear of peacocks.

I think I may go back to playing Grand Designs on The Sims.

Napkins on Elm Street

I have been AWOL for a week. I had no choice - I had to remove myself from the world of weddings for my own sanity. It was all getting a bit too much. And it all started with something so simple - napkins.

On Valentine's Day (how romantic) we re-visited our venue to pay the deposit. While there, I was asked how many guests we were having, what type of top table we preferred, what shade of carpet we wanted and, finally, what colour napkins we were having and how they would be positioned in the glasses. Napkins. That's what it took to push me from a state of wide-eyed confusion to the precipice of tears in an instant.

The fact is, there's a year to go and I have not, for even one second, thought about what napkins I want. I don't know if they will be red or white, folded in a glass or flat on the table, cotton or paper, or even shaped like a swan. I have been waltzing through life blissfully unaware of the importance of napkins. More fool me.

OK, so perhaps I let the whole napkins thing upset me a little too much. The problem is, I don't know what I want. I don't know if I want tasteful elegance, vintage drama or shabby chic. In terms of themes and colour palettes, I'm at a loss - and the biggest reason for this is potential regret.

I am worried that if I go for something full of personality it will look awful (a centrepiece consisting of porcelain cats doesn't really scream sophistication). But if I go for something more traditional, will I feel like I'm at a stranger's wedding on the day? In fact, I have become everything I hate, in danger of losing sight of what's really important at a wedding, but I just can't help it.

And all the while, that little (increasingly distant) voice of reason in my head is saying: "No-one will even notice. The centrepiece could be a Care Bear holding a candle - and NO-ONE WILL CARE!" That's the point - I've been to a lot of weddings and can remember very few of the table centrepieces, colour schemes or floral displays. I confess, I have no idea if any of them even featured napkins.

So, now you understand why I have taken a wedding sabbatical. If I hadn't, I fear this blog would have ended prematurely as a result of the writer drowning in a sea of napkins and tears.

Frocky Horror Show

For me - and I would imagine many, many others - one of the most exciting things about getting married is choosing The Dress. While I was worried about venues, stressed about guests and nervous about the nuptials, the dress was the one thing I could be excited about. After all, I had been dreaming about it for decades. It seems I was wrong.

Now, to be fair to the industry at large, I perhaps don't have the most traditional taste in wedding dresses. In the mid-90s, when I used to doodle designs in my school workbooks, I was convinced I would get married wearing a 1960s-style shift dress and knee high boots, while a few years later medieval became my guiding influence, with sleeves that hung to the floor and Lord of the Rings a key theme.

Luckily I have since grown up and realised that neither Galadriel nor Lulu should be used as your major influence when it comes to the most important frock you are ever likely to wear. So, while I have a few ideas, I felt I was quite open minded. I had also heard from many friends that you just know when you've found The One, even if it is completely different to what you thought you would pick. So, I entered the dress shops in the keen and inquisitive spirit of a Girl Guide.

Within about two minutes of looking at the rails I knew there was nothing that leapt out at me, but I wanted to try on as many different styles as possible so put my trepidations to one side.

I tried on princess-style gowns, but these made me look like Glinda from The Wizard of Oz - if she'd been shrunk in the washing machine. I tried on a Victorian-style lace gown with sleeves, but my height - combined with my wide-eyed nerves and office-worker pale skin - made me look like the ghost of a Victorian child haunting the residents of a rambling Gothic pile. Then there were the dresses decorated with so many sequins and plastic rhinestones they looked like they belonged at a Dolly Parton concert, and the HUGE frocks that will probably make an appearance on My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding any day now. Most of all, in every gown I tried on, I looked nothing like a bride and more like I was playing dress up.

Now, it doesn't help that I am barely 5 ft tall, while the average wedding gown is made for someone of about 5 ft 10" (equivalent to a woman of 5 ft 6" wearing heels.) As a result, I had to stand on a stool. While humiliating, this fooled me momentarily into thinking every dress looked amazing and added inches to me, until I stepped off the stool only for a layer of satin to rise up and make me look like a melting ice-cream. My height also had the unnerving effect of making me look like a child bride, which is probably something best avoided.

I know, I appear to be moaning - which was my major bugbear about brides when I first started this blog. This is the most beautiful, expensive and special dress I will ever wear and there are far worse things I could be doing with my time than trying on hundreds of frocks. I feel guilty complaining, but had to write about my experience if only to dispel the myth that every wedding gown you try on will transform you into Cinderella. In my case, I looked more like a startled Sarah Brightman in Phantom of the Opera.

I still have not found The One and I'm starting to panic. But I know it will happen - however many sequins, rhinestones and layers I have to wade through on the way. After all, if I've found the man I want to marry, how hard can it be to find the dress I want to get married in?

Stressed? Don't go to a wedding fayre

I recently attended my first wedding fayre - an occasion I was sure would teach me many valuable things about planning a wedding. It did - don't go to wedding fayres.

OK, there are a lot of draws to wedding fayres, the main one - apart from the free sweets - being that you are able to search and compare all of the local wedding service providers in your area. Of course, you could do that from the comfort of your sofa using Google, but if I had done that this blog would be much shorter and I wouldn't have got A) as many sweets, or B) so panicked I thought I'd start crying among the chair cover stalls.

I say this because, from my one wedding fayre experience, some of the industry peeps out there are at best unhelpful and at worse quite frightening. The problem is, they believe they are experts - which, given that they will have been involved in the planning of dozens, if not hundreds, of weddings, while you are only struggling through one, is probably true. The problem with them being an expert and you an amateur is that, despite you wielding the cash, they hold all the power and will undoubtedly say things that make you feel (if possible) even more stressed.

One woman point blank told me that D "has to wear tails to get married". Does he really though? I know of no law dictating what a man wears to tie the knot in. As long as he doesn't dress up in a fluffy frog outfit I'll be quite happy. Another exhibitor insisted to my friend (also getting married) that although she had booked a venue, organised the entertainment and sent out her invites, her wedding would not be complete until she had also booked a chocolate fountain/magician/palm reader/animal tamer to entertain the guests.

In fact, it was these vendors of 'fun' services who were perhaps the most irritating. One we spoke to explained they would set up a photo booth at your wedding venue, with a fancy dress box, fake beards and lots of 'hilarious' quote bubbles guests could hold up as the alternative photographer snapped away. To sum up, the exhibitor said: "By having this at your wedding, your guests will be able to have some fun."

Now, while I'll agree that the average wedding is hardly up there with Glastonbury festival in the fun stakes, guests are usually, at a bare minimum, provided with a three-course meal, plenty of free booze, great music, some cake and the obligatory favour. Yet today, even that is not enough, because - according to this exhibitor - no fun will be had unless there is a fake photo booth/falconry display/Disney parade going on as well.

So, as you can see, the whole experience only added more points to my list of things to organise, causing me to leave far more panicked than when I arrived. As a result, I hope you heed this warning: if you are a bride of a nervous disposition, enter wedding fayres with caution. My advice? Put on your headphones, zoom around the stalls picking up business cards/sweets as you go and do not stop for anyone! Then return home and peruse your business cards on the sofa while enjoying your sweets. Simple!

Do soap operas lie?

OK, the above question is pretty easy to answer - of course they lie. The main aim is to be unbelievable. Case 1: Three women (three!) fighting for the affections of John Stape in Coronation Street. Case 2: Sam Michell having sported at least two different heads - an abnormality none of the residents of Albert Square have ever commented on. Case 3: Hollyoaks.

The whole point of soaps is that they stretch the truth in the aim of making real life events more interesting. However, there is one area where they all universally stretch the truth beyond all limits - weddings.

No, I don't mean in the unlikely pairings, frequent elopements or occasional bigamy. I mean in the time it takes every soap bride to plan a wedding. In short, what is their secret and why won't they share it?

Since getting engaged, the most common phrase I have heard is "not long to go now", despite the wedding being a year away. In fact, read a wedding magazine and you will put it down believing there is no way you can plan a wedding without giving up your job and having four years of free time to play with. Yet, in the world of soaps, brides are able to plan and execute a wedding inside of six months or less.

It helps that the go-to reception venue is always the Rovers Return, Vic or Woolpack, which certainly cuts out all the time most couples spend scouting out stately homes, country churches or city hotels. And beware any soap bride who breaks with tradition and heads to a different venue to their local following their nuptials, as their marriage is guaranteed not to make it past the end credits if they do.

I dip in and out of Corrie and in the recent Becky-Steve-Tracy storyline I was less interested in whether Tracy's evil deeds would be uncovered and Becky vindicated than I was in how on earth Ms Barlow (who has also sported at least two heads during her life) managed to pull together a wedding in what must have been about four months.

She managed to book a date at Arley Hall chapel - a home so grand it would make the cast of Downton Abbey weep with envy. She had arranged for a tower of beautifully decorated cup cakes to be piled up for the guests to dig into. The venue was decked out in stunning flowers. And, most tellingly of all, she had a wedding dress that fit perfectly - the top half of which, according to Corrie's ITV makers, was bespoke. In every wedding dress shop I have been into, I have been informed at least six months is necessary to order a dress, alter it to fit you and allow for any additional alterations.

Yet not for the Corrie women months of shopping and then waiting for their dress to come. Instead, they can wander into one bridal boutique and come out swinging a bag on their arm. Soap brides also have few problems booking the venue of their dreams with just four months' notice. And at no point do they sit down with their partner to talk money.

So, why do soap writers cut out the wedding planning? In real life, this is a stage promising so much drama that bridesmaids are driven to drink and brides end up on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

Unfortunately, I can only assume that it's because they know that if they made the soap brides go through 12 months of worrying about whether to have roses or tulips, or sweating over a table plan, as well as juggling their affair, bankruptcy and bigamy, they would never make it down the aisle at all.

How bizarre?

The other day my dad described my wedding as "bizarre". There is still a year to go and so far the only thing we've done is book a venue, but already mine and D's wedding has gained a reputation. My dad did try to back pedal, saying he "liked bizarre", but the damage was already done.

To be honest, I think he will be in for a sad disappointment once my nuptials come around. In fact, if he thinks what I have planned is bizarre he should watch My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding or flick through Heat every once in a while. Because couples today have truly out-there weddings.

In my opinion, bizarre is performing a dance on stage for your spouse, bursting through a trapdoor in the stage belting out I Know Him So Well from Chess, dressing up in Civil War gear with the bride as a Royalist and the groom a Roundhead, or getting the dog to act as best man. And if you really want to see a wedding at the sharp end of the weird stick, may I direct you to the nuptials of Liza Minnelli and David Gest - an event so bizarre it will never be topped. Until that big day, the thought of Michael Jackson, Liz Taylor and Martine McCutcheon (Yes! Martine McCutcheon!) standing in a room together was something even the surrealist of minds couldn't have thought up. This was a wedding photo opportunity that will never be topped.

However, while I may mock, I also think better to be bizarre than bland. And better to do something with Minnelli-levels of crazy than religiously follow the Hello Magazine dream-wedding-blueprint. At least if you know you're an expert in your wedding, no-one else can tell you what they think you should be doing.

In fact, if you have a particularly far-out idea in mind, I'd say it's best to run with it. On this journey, everyone you meet wants to hand you a pearl of wisdom. So far, I have been told by various exhibitors at wedding fayres that the groom must wear tails to get married in, vinyl covers are not a suitable table centrepiece, I have to have sequins on my dress and I should have the photographer there to take pictures of me the morning I get married, whether or not the house is a tip, my hair looks like something from Fraggle Rock and I am openly swigging from a bottle of Baileys.

Indeed, everyone seems to have an opinion on what we should do with little regard for what we may want to do. So, maybe it's time we took a hint from Liza, embraced the crazy and forgot about other people's opinions. How bizarre? Maybe not!

The big question

So far all I appear to have done is worry, moan, stress and moan some more. Which brings us to the big question - why bother?

Not why bother getting married, because that's a totally different question and one probably best answering before you're knee high in chair cover bows. No, why bother having a big wedding? And by big I mean anything over you and two witnesses.

It would be so easy to head to the local registry office or town hall - or even to hop on a plane to Las Vegas and tie the knot in front of Elvis. That way, you would be able to start your married life together free of the hives brought on by desperately searching for favours people won't just leave on the table. And quickie weddings are cool - John and Yoko did it AND wrote a song about it afterwards. (OK, admittedly some of the cool associated with elopement was undone after Kerry Katona exchanged vows with Mark Croft in Gretna Green - but the less said about that the better.)

So, what is the reason we opt to have a wedding, rather than simply get married? Even Kate Moss, usually the barometer of cool for people who feel the need to have a barometer of cool, had a traditional wedding (admittedly followed by a three-day knees-up).

Well, actually there's two reasons. The first is to be able to celebrate your love in front of all your friends and family, and to repay them for all they have done for you over the years with a kick-ass party. The other is the reason that we dare not say out loud. It is that deep down (OK - deep, deep down) we would quite like a day about us. Just a few hours when people are happy for us and celebrating with us.

Because, let's be honest, after the age of 22 it becomes a struggle to get a group of more than ten together (if you're lucky) to celebrate your birthday. And the older they get, the less some people feel like celebrating their birthday, as opposed to hiding under a blanket, eating a Battenberg with a spoon and weeping. Yes, there are other occasions to celebrate - you can have a house warming when you buy your first home (but you'll spend the whole time nearly hysterical with fear the floor will be scratched, walls stained and sofa set on fire). Or, you might be keen to raise a glass after bagging a new job or getting a promotion (but anything more than a few drinks at the pub on this occasion and you risk looking like Elton John in your need to celebrate all things you).

And really, is there anything wrong with wanting that day to just be about you two? I would imagine that by the time all the hard work is done and it actually gets here, you'll deserve it. It's nothing to be ashamed of - particularly when once you reach your mid-20s you'll be attending a wedding practically every weekend. Enjoy your turn because it will only happen once. And if you really want to milk your time in the spotlight, consider writing a song about it afterwards.