Isn't that a pretty bouquet? Yes, the wedding planning is moving ahead. I have large folders of bouquet , room decoration and homemade favours ideas on the computer; stacks of magazines with marked pages; excel spreadsheets with budgets (versions: base case, best case, worst case and 'today's case'), guest lists, addresses; a ringbinder with snazzy dividers including all the supplier estimates and contact details...
Yes, I am in my project management element.
And to top it all, my jaw dropped to the ground when Frog suggested we went to last weekend's Wedding Fair in Reims. Had I heard of it? Yes, of course I had but I hadn't even considered telling him about it as I was sure I'd get a belligerent, 'do we have to' response. Although once we were there, I realised he probably wanted to see the pretty models in the fashion show. And there was the bonus that on the way out, we bumped into his Godfather at the adjacent Food & Wine Fair, selling the snails he farms. (Yes, only in France).
I'm not going to jinx things by putting too much wedding detail here (mainly because we are still arguing over the costs of the details). But I can update you on two current topics:
After a day of dress trying on last month, Mum and I reduced the selection to a 'final three'. All very different. My sister is arriving in Reims this Friday night, and she will help me make the final choice. Oooh la la.
The Hag Do
Ahhh yes. I confidently told my sister (as chief and sole bridesmaid) that I didn't want a traditional hen night, but I would love to have a night out in London with my favourite friends - male and female. Half of my good mates are male, and I can't think of anything very exciting about a night out with just girls. No offence to my best girl friends, but it wouldn't be inclusive of everyone.
My favourite London restaurant, bar... I had images of a fun, tipsy night out.
Then this weekend happened.
And so The Boys decided that they wanted to organise a stag weekend. The type that they have organised in the past, that involved meticulous planning; taxis turning up in the middle of the night; random dodgy hotel rooms to stay alone and await 4 am calls on where to find a hidden set of clothes; mystery clown costumed journeys on British Rail to find the group; en route forfeits to be completed in order to get the full set of directions (not of the naughty kind but rather the plain embarassing kind for a shy, retiring lass like myself) and... of course... much drinking.
Somewhere in the drunken haze of that weekend in Lille, I said yes to this. On the proviso that they involved my sister, invited all my girl mates and someone in the group promised to wear the 'let's be a mite sensible about all this' hat.
I had thought that my sister would be the one wearing the aforementioned hat. However, she would now seem to be one of the most enthusiastic member of the organising committee. She's already told me she is rather proud of the fact that she came up with the moniker 'Hag' to describe the event and I have a sinking feeling this may be payback for the years of bullying that she endured as the younger sister.
Should I be worried?!