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?

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.

Stress less

When I got engaged I vowed I would just enjoy it for a while. This I did. For about one week. And that was only because it was Christmas, a time when everything, including the wedding industry, takes a backseat. However, before too long people wanted to know when the big day was. And no matter how vague the date in your mind is, with a date there must come a venue. And with a venue there must come a theme for the day. And so it spirals. At least I enjoyed my one week of being engaged.

As mentioned before, I am quite lazy and I prefer to turn to third parties for guidance/a-person-to-do-it-for-me whenever something big looms on the horizon. So that's just what I did. Big mistake!

There is a LOT of wedding advice out there. For instance, all I wanted to get my hands on was a simple wedding planner - a guide that would tell me what basics I should be getting organised each month during the year before I got married. After dismissing the many planners that suggested a wedding simply could not be arranged in merely 12 months, I was left with a variety of increasingly panic-inducing guides. One told me that I MUST make sure I had booked a session with a feng shui expert at least six months before my wedding day. Another reminded me that I should schedule in time for remodelling a room in my home during the final month of the countdown (weird, but I'm not making it up). In fact, after innocently believing I would not be required to do much during the first three to six months, every guide told me I was wrong, wrong, WRONG. Thank goodness we got engaged at Christmas and I had several bottles of sherry to help calm my battered nerves.

Then there were the blogs and magazines, both of which opened up a completely different can of worms. Not only did I have to plan the biggest event of my life but it also had to be the Best. Day. Ever!!! Yet every wedding was different. Where was the cut-out-and-keep blue print I was after? The one thing I ascertained was that brides can be split into two basic types.

Cookie-cutter

These are the brides who get engaged, buy every wedding magazine on the shelf one day later and will strive for the fairytale wedding. I have nothing but respect for these women as the very idea of setting such a goal sends me racing for the sherry bottle again.

Edgy

Increasingly, there are brides out there who dismiss the fairytale wedding in favour of something different and more "them". At first, this seems like a sensible route, but delve deeper. Take a look at the Polaroid photos, the handcrafted table decorations, the homemade tower of cupcakes. Down this route lies even more stress than the ultimate cookie-cutter wedding.

So, I have decided that from this point forward I will limit the "advice" I seek. I will flick through wedding magazines faster than Superman spins around in his phone booth. I will draw up my own wedding plan.

And if I do want advice, I will ask people to share their tips with me. Friends who have got married and lived to tell the tale, or those who are getting married and are happy to hear me moan if they can do the same. Perhaps the best person to turn to is your mum. Trust me, when you're up to your eyes in dried flowers, weeping as you attempt to tie bouquets in yarn, to place in one of the ten antique glasses you have been collecting, to place in the middle of the circle of tea light holders you have decorated with the names of your guests to use as place settings, you will wonder why you didn't just ask her to host a buffet at her house.

The Guilt-edged Bride

I'm a writer and yet I have never written a blog. I never felt I had anything of interest to write about. Now I'm getting married, and although this is a rather run-of-the-mill occurrence, weddings also support a multi-million pound industry, with countless blogs, magazines and websites all eager to shout about them. So, I guess I now have something to write about.

However, the reason I felt compelled to write a blog is not to bask in lacy, bridal glory. In fact, I wanted to write about getting married in terms of the three leading feelings I have about this, the greatest day of my life: panic, laziness and guilt. So, before I delve into the flowers and confetti, I'll address these individually.

Panic

First off, I do not feel panicked about actually being married - far from it. I have been with my partner (who, in true blog style, shall be referred to as D from this point forward) for six years. I always counted myself lucky that I never had to hear comments like "has he still not made an honest woman of you" or "no ring on that finger, I see", served up with a pitying face. However, the last year such comments had started to creep in. The fact is, we have known for a long time we were going to get married, it was just a case of getting round to it. I'm glad he did though, as those pitying faces were becoming all too common.

No, the reason I feel panicked is I have to organise a wedding. Up to this point, I have never done anything more than throw a half-hearted BBQ for half a dozen people and yet now I have to plan and host an event for more than 100, all of whom will be travelling from all over the country and most of whom do not know each other. In fact, every year millions of women are suddenly expected to become fully-qualified event planners without even the knowledge they get to waltz around in an Access All Areas sticker on the big day. This is the real reason for the panic and stress.

Laziness

OK, maybe I'm not lazy. However, I do tend to avoid over-exerting myself. Balancing too many plates only ends up with something breaking, so I prefer to hold one plate firmly in two hands. But gone are the days when 50 members of your family would fill the pews in church, before heading back to your parents' home to tuck into a buffet. So now I have to start plate-balancing. I am going to have to make an effort and actually plan and execute something - the thought of which makes me long for the comfort of lazing on the sofa.

Guilt

What reason have I to feel guilty? Before you ask, I did not steal D from the arms of another. In fact, the very reason I have to feel guilty is evidenced in this blog - I am moaning. About having a wedding.

I have a favourite line in Friends. It's from the one where Ross has to decide whether to stay with Julie or leave her to be with Rachel. After bemoaning the fact that two women are in love with him, Chandler responds, saying: "My wallet's too small for my fifties, and my diamond shoes are too tight!"

This sums my feelings up perfectly. We all know the curse of the Bridezilla, but what about the Bridezmoaner? Who knows a bride who hasn't moaned about something? Even a teensy bit? Perhaps it's that the flowers aren't what they asked for, or they can't find the perfect dress (more of that in a later post). Somehow, the moans squeeze in, leaving everyone else wanting to scream "you're getting married! Cheer up, what's wrong with you?" And well they should. You are about to enjoy the day you have dreamed of since you were old enough to daydream - what is wrong with you?

The thing is, it's so easy for those moans to creep in, because planning a wedding is panic-inducing and does make you want to run and hide under the duvet. Yet moaning about it induces feelings of guilt. Although, better to be guilty of moaning than to be a smug bride.

So, therein lies my (hopefully unique) angle. This blog is for any bride who has feelings of panic, laziness and guilt mixed in with the happiness and excitement. Hopefully we can get through this together.