tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91138392107331692072024-03-05T18:28:09.049-08:00cakes and buntingplanning a cheap and fun wedding on a farm and resolutely not getting stressed outclairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138885415919892174noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-25660587005155891782012-09-10T16:02:00.002-07:002012-09-10T16:02:40.932-07:00one year agoOur first wedding anniversary was one year and one week ago today.<br />
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Since that wonderful, beautiful day on the blustery hill we have moved several hundred miles away from where we used to call home. We are buying a home of our own - a tiny house in this still-strange city.<br />
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People that I barely knew a year ago are now good friends, for which I have the internet and blogging to thank. <br />
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And the wedding, our wedding, seems unreal - like a vague memory of a movie we once saw. Remembering it, I have a huge feeling of happiness - but with an edge of sadness because it was so wonderful, and because it won't happen again. That day was soaked in giddy love and warmth. But it feels OK that the detail memories are starting to fade. It's leaving behind what matters.<br />
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I still feel sad that there are now people that are a part of my life (many of whom I met through blogging and Twitter) that weren't there at the wedding. I feel sad too that people that I became so close to through the wedding are now so far away.<br />
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My dress is hanging in the wardrobe, wrapped with an Ikea duvet cover and still wearing the mud from the farm. I know I should get it cleaned and encased in a box, but I feel sentimental about that mud, much more so than I do about the dress. The mud is fun and real. The beautiful dress is better for it. I like seeing the wrapped up Ikea duvet dress it in the wardrobe, brushing past it and sometimes feeling the weight of the skirt and touching the lace at the back. It's better there than in a box in an attic.<br />
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I always meant to post more photographs up here - of the mad, mad dancing at the end of the night; the raucous party that followed the genteel ceremony. But as time passed, it seemed less important to share it and more important to preserve it for ourselves. <br />
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I'd guess that it's obvious that this blog has run its natural course. I might pop by and update from time to time, but I'll be mostly over at <a href="http://thisglimmeringworld.blogspot.co.uk/">This Glimmering World </a>- my other blog.<br />
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This blog won't disappear, so you can still read all about it if it takes your fancy. And you can still contact me through all the channels if you want to - I still check them. I'm also still <a href="https://twitter.com/cakesandbunting">@cakesandbunting</a> on Twitter for now, though may change it to reflect the new blog name soon. I'm always excited to hear from new people or answer any questions.<br />
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All that remains is for me to say an enormous thank you to everyone that read this blog; commented, supported, helped, advised - and in some cases, even became friends. Part of what made the wedding and the planning so amazing was finding this supportive, wonderful community that welcomed me in with open arms. Thank you all for taking the time to help out a stranger. I can only hope that I've ever had the chance to help you in return. clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-4360421432396265282012-02-20T06:44:00.000-08:002012-02-20T06:44:16.900-08:00the ceremony on the hillI walked downstairs, followed by Liv, my mum, Hannah the photographer, Adam the videographer and Carly and Kim. I could see people in the garden through the window - Liv was right, everyone was there - and then stepped outside.<br />
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A weird moment - it's just you, facing 80 people, most of whom have cameras. I stood for a second embarrassed and laughing before suggesting we make our way to the tractor. On we got, and off we went.<br />
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Up the hill, everything was ready. On hearing the tractor approach, Jon and his brother (as best man) had hid, and while everyone took their seats on hay bales, I stood in the forest with my dad at the back of the aisle looking at Tom, the friend that would marry us. Dad asked if I was ready. Jon's brother was in charge of the music, and when we heard it start, we walked in...<br />
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Photos as ever mostly by the genius <a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/">Hannah Dornford-May</a>, with a couple by friends and family thrown in</div>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-6377809883663469622012-01-31T04:37:00.000-08:002012-01-31T04:55:26.114-08:00preparation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
When we got back to the farm, J and I posed for a couple of photos by the car, and then parted. I met the hair and make up ladies, who had been having a cuppa while waiting for me, and we went up to the room.<br />
<br />
I hadn't realised the importance of this time - the reason there are so many photos of people getting ready when you see wedding photos online. There aren't many rituals in life now, especially for the non-religious. But this time - I felt the weight of ritual; the importance of what we were doing. I felt like I was taking part in something significant and old. Most of these hours were spent quietly, with only some music on at the very end. I enjoyed the quiet very much.<br />
<br />
My mum and J's mum had their make up done while my hair was put in rollers, and then I was made up and dressed. Best ladies popped in and out with logistical questions and moral support - and also with a big bag of snacks. I love the photo of everyone looking at the photo album (a gift from hen party friends with photos and words from each, given to me by best lady G the night before to read "once you're in bed, before you go to sleep") and tucking in.<br />
<br />
My friend A, who was doing a reading in the ceremony, came up with a sixpence for my shoe. My lovely auntie came up and cried and hugged me over and over.<br />
<br />
Hannah the photographer came and went, as did Adam the videographer, documenting this quiet time. Eventually, all best ladies came and said that it was time for them to go up the hill, to string some bunting a few minutes ahead of time. I asked one of them, Liv, to stay with me.<br />
<br />
When I had been helped into my dress and my veil had been pinned on, Liv bought up my flowers and dried them off. "Do you want to see yourself in the mirror?" asked the hair lady. I hadn't even considered what I looked like, with no big mirror in the room, I'd only seen my face. I went to the mirror in the corridor and stood silently for a few seconds.<br />
<br />
That was me, sure enough. Cool dress, great hair, lovely make up. Incredible flowers. Veil, shoes, the works. I looked like a pretty awesome version of me. I said only one word...<br />
<br />
"Awesome!"<br />
<br />
And everyone in the room, who had evidently been holding their collective breaths in silence, started laughing. "We thought you'd started crying," said the hair lady. My dad came up to see me, and I remembered to put the sixpence in my shoe (where it promptly fell out, and was reinstalled in the bouquet).<br />
<br />
Someone suggested that it was time to go down. "Is there anyone down there?" I asked, suddenly wondering if the guests had arrived. Liv looked at me and laughed again: "Claire, <i>everyone</i> is down there!"<br />
<br />
<b>The credits </b><br />
<br />
<b>Make up:</b> Carly at <a href="http://www.anotherlittleworld.co.uk/">Another Little World</a> in Yeovil in Somerset - uses only natural mineral make up. Brilliant brilliant brilliant. And also so sweet, lovely - such wonderful company during that time. She even bought me a little present - a wooden heart with the word 'love' on it which she left for us to find after the wedding.<br />
<br />
<b>Hair </b>was by Kim Lane of Signature Hair in Somerset. Now she doesn't have a website and all I have is an email address and phone number, which I'm not sure I should put online. So if you want a brilliant hairdresser based in Somerset, drop me a line and I'll put you in touch with her.<br />
<br />
<b>The dress</b> was by the wonderful wonderful <a href="http://www.houseofmooshki.com/">House of Mooshki</a>, and as you know, was won in their incredible Christmas 2011 competition, in association with <a href="http://www.lovemydress.net/">Love My Dress</a>. Gratitude does not cover it. I love them.<br />
<br />
<b>Flowers</b> by <a href="http://www.marshmallowflowers.co.uk/">Marsh Mallow Flower Design</a>, also in Somerset. Aren't they goddamnned awesome? Bec at Marshmallow is a genius.<br />
<br />
And as ever, all photos by the genius <a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/">Hannah Dornford-May</a><br />
<br />clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-91995878807740992392012-01-17T07:13:00.001-08:002012-01-17T07:56:32.831-08:00the register office<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/"><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/"><br /></a></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZkomOjm8YKmRfVqLoEg78YrK43gR7f6Iv75gTZYFG4npT4GJpHk4ZfRzvWKvxMdUerN66FnZTKY6lMWs5DtOBEswZadzmhaG3f1NtxWHkgudNLuUz7YP6qj6TcznLUzMvCdDB9xe9mQ/s400/claire-jon-3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698620847103321730" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/"><br /></a></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCPlVXFAjI4Xd9M6MDC6jTqAvCpPXa9k5Ei63AXutDZJh_WlZvwinsJoQqa0TlpNA3Ael4A884Ay4knvAqd80XrD7ITonHFZBwehMO9zoSorauN5rMF8NoBa4OK4HTaXf6KmOJV9e9nE/s400/claire-jon-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698626390338818098" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYUvgxku6bKwOw7yRcjIylRpmZU0ki5Tj6UtDatAfjjjc5wEta8pE8UiRNqN0y1PutdkjettVA48GpZk8o27_ROPKdWRMsJQRfrME8rTkJCoLf1V7Dwzq5sC-wyCUn_qlJqUH87J8ykc/s400/claire-jon-17.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698627262935810114" /><img style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCRsTzDqFPVYvUFUBFLI0V6R2eLpEzIi1215ZXGxT_N2m0hI7I7XJDrdQne1YdRrwOGfZa0qnhOdk7U8pXDJ7B3LO5D5pp05DEvVvbwKo_wjc2VUrIhtuat5lfIeresBhJWn1ghXp4QrU/s400/claire-jon-32.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698627736622794242" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsduwp42mn3T2TCHzZW8SpTOPcC5h9FnmGf8ejNUp1A8sV7efcYpSj7dDYf4shfCywqVa0BIbcUPQ1JMubgIzJbscnZ7mxXOYFQDrYyGIIPcc7NumXzjDOFexOt6VTCP4nBvIh0wnFtY/s400/claire-jon-55.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698628482021430818" /><br /><div>The legal bit was done. We didn't exchange rings, but just had a simple ceremony with family in attendance. Mums and dads, siblings and a few aunts and uncles. It was quick and fun and informal. I wore the shawl my mum had made. I couldn't stop giggling throughout, and on the way back, Jon and I scooted around the country lanes of Somerset, singing Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros 'Home', all the way. The excitement proper was about to begin...</div><div><br /></div><div>All photographs by <a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/">Hannah Dornford-May</a><br /><div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div></div>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-65950407462095838442012-01-17T06:57:00.000-08:002012-01-17T07:13:26.100-08:00the morning - the second part<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_7KnwO42aKO3CT3UZYeOl1NNNiMubCMk1Ccxq7ZRdLgGcolFJgxZ2AEdJdov8ZuJew5CJLWrJQmwGKAn-yblJ-Fue_Q-yWq_CeXExKG0mw1IehtC7uOu7fOYuIumkxdz8R0luPVPyoI/s1600/claire-jon-83.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_7KnwO42aKO3CT3UZYeOl1NNNiMubCMk1Ccxq7ZRdLgGcolFJgxZ2AEdJdov8ZuJew5CJLWrJQmwGKAn-yblJ-Fue_Q-yWq_CeXExKG0mw1IehtC7uOu7fOYuIumkxdz8R0luPVPyoI/s400/claire-jon-83.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698617786757223426" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>After the restorative cup of tea, I threw on last nights clothes and ran down to breakfast. That thing about brides not eating did not apply to me. One bowl of cereal, half a danish, half a croissant and three pieces of toast later, I ran back upstairs to get dressed before J came down (we had co-ordinated times to eat so we didn't see each other). On the way out, I clocked J's beloved old red car - a 16 year old VW Polo - festooned with ribbons and balloons, with a crooked 'Just Married' in the back window. I would later find out that he'd done it at 7am, unable to sleep, and that my best lady had helped him when his unsteady hands struggled to write on the window.<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I pulled on dress number 1 - the short 1960s job that I'd managed to find at a vastly reduced price in an outlet store. A beautiful Kaliko lace dress that made me a feel a teensy bit like I should have kohl eyeliner and an unsuitable mod boyfriend. I put on the viking necklace that J had given me two weeks before, and my gran's 'something blue' - a necklace of Derbyshire bluejohn given to her by my stepgrandad. And with that, my charm bracelet - given as a Christening gift by an aunt and godmother, and added to every year. That's it in the top picture.</div><div><br /></div><div>I felt the weight of ritual, that it was important to wear these things. I wore the dress with a comfy pair of peep toe shoes, and just as I was about to leave the room, realised I had no flowers. I grabbed two gerberas from a bouquet sent by a client and bought down the day before (shame to leave them at home) and wrapped them in a spare bit of lace I'd bought for something else and not ultimately needed.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoneGCKs4EeqiHmetBsXWNHIHLEl6tkWwvTnZOffMfL_NYr3Yp8Orvrjxf0tZ65FJRBYfOwwduC1UyjqtbGOsblsiQQIA6p2dIqASrX_33t8Y1FU7ZVSxsZyzTYZcTbwDrIB5Um48J4I/s400/claire-jon-82.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698618353858764658" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div>Then with my mum and dad nagging me to hurry up (some things never change) we hot-footed it to the car, so that they could drive me to the register office.</div><div><br /></div></div>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-43133880355898316602012-01-17T06:40:00.000-08:002012-01-17T06:57:24.383-08:00the morning - the first partThe morning of our wedding was much odder than I expected. I had gone to sleep late, but didn't wake until my mum, who had probably been awake for hours, knocked at my door with a shawl I know she had spent months making. <div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >Inside was a short note, with handwriting that got more crabbed as the carefully considered words made their way through. She quoted 'Poem for a daughter' by Anne Stevenson, which she had read years ago, and said: "I've never had you, as you still have me, Claire"</span><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><p style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span >Poem for a Daughter</span></p><p style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span >“I think I’m going to have it,”<br />I said, joking between pains.<br />The midwife rolled competent<br />sleeves over corpulent milky arms.<br />“Dear, you never have it,<br />we deliver it.”<br />A judgment years prove true.<br />Certainly I’ve never had you</span></p><p style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span >as you still have me, Caroline.<br />Why does a mother need a daughter?<br />Heart’s needle, hostage to fortune,<br />freedom’s end. Yet nothing’s more perfect<br />than that bleating, razor-shaped cry<br />that delivers a mother to her baby.<br />The bloodcord snaps that held<br />their spheres together. The child,<br />tiny and alone, creates the mother.</span></p><p style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span >A woman’s life is her own<br />until it is taken away<br />by a first particular cry.<br />Then she is not alone<br />but part of the premises<br />of everything there is:<br />a time, a tribe, a war.<br />When we belong to the world<br />we become what we are.</span></p><p style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span >Anne Stevenson</span></p><p style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span >We sat on the bed - me still in my pyjamas, and my mum in tears, holding me. And then she went, as mums are wont to do, to make me a cup of tea. I felt quite tiny and yet quite old at the same time. </span></p><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-69944831273630753732012-01-11T14:49:00.000-08:002012-01-11T17:56:21.709-08:00the night before and the tale of the smashed cake<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEfowZG5QVJ9QO288OxB0zBZVcnfQzYxXybAivDBggimC7OjAa-AuloefQy4V-XinXj0-P5SMynPUCiUcpbv8co-K1S1MKMJFJv52CULKhnWwECzR_ApWfw9rLqImjzWn4D4kFMqTu1w/s1600/IMG_1968.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 342px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEfowZG5QVJ9QO288OxB0zBZVcnfQzYxXybAivDBggimC7OjAa-AuloefQy4V-XinXj0-P5SMynPUCiUcpbv8co-K1S1MKMJFJv52CULKhnWwECzR_ApWfw9rLqImjzWn4D4kFMqTu1w/s400/IMG_1968.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696552270934093234" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span>The most beautiful sky</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't know if you'll agree with me or not, but I feel that this blog is more than just a place for pretty pictures. I like to tell stories, and so alongside the pictures I'll be choosing the most interesting bits of the day to tell you about. I promise to try and keep it entertaining.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div>We arrived at our venue, Huntstile Organic Farm in Somerset, the day before the wedding. Our little old red VW was jammed to the rafters with stuff. It had been a fairly eventful drive down with two small mishaps - a misunderstanding about the presence of hay bales at the ceremony space, and J's parents forgetting the confetti.<div><br /><div><div><div>At this point, I had given up. I didn't want to kick up a fuss for either thing; to be a b****zilla. I was going to let both go. Then, both times, J took the phone off me and did something that no woman to be could ever do, lest the evil B word be used. He politely but in a firm, no nonsense fashion got the hay bales sorted. And to his mum, who was only a little way from London but almost in tears at the confetti incident, told her it would be OK, but it was one of our main decorations and we had made litres of the stuff, so they did have to go back and get it. It would only add an hour onto their journey. (We weren't to know that they were driving at 50... and it added two and a half...)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div>So we arrived at the venue something magic happened. I felt pretty much all stress leave my body. I felt calm and capable. I had two dresses. I had J. All I was worried about was everyone arriving safely.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhlop8FK8OtqjD5_PEy367n4HdGTIi_aPpSDvHVnOp3Q_LhfJz_1jEwcGbW0MQA_fnPqXJsdKOasT_9h5J2lKc1-xnSr4giE1wCKyte3WgY_XzB3YFAHJMwRvEZwUFJo-9_IbnDDnOH4/s400/DSC_0039.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696529984946277602" /><div><br /></div><div>And slowly, people began to arrive. And those usual day-before things got done. Bunting was hung (we had twice as much as we needed). Things were set on tables. Hair trial. Make up trial (left until this last minute because I had to find new people at short notice).</div><div><br /></div><div>And then, while I was having my nails painted, my mum came into the room.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>Mum:</b> <i>Don't freak out, but something's happened.</i></div><div><b>Me: </b><i>[thinking the worst: motorway pile ups, child fallen off trampoline in garden, ambulances] What? What is it?</i></div><div><b>Mum:</b> <i>It's the cake. It's a bit... smashed.</i></div><div><b>Me:</b> <i>Oh thank god. Is it stil edible?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">All I could think was: phew. It's just a cake. I promised L (best lady and courageous bringer of cake) that I wouldn't care if something happened to it. I knew whatever it was wouldn't be her fault. More than the cake, I needed to find her (my mum having told me she was very upset) and tell her it was OK.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><div>Then the amazing wedding organiser and farmer's partner Lizzie came into the room. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Lizzie: </b><i>So your cake. It really is quite trashed. I need to tell you that before you see it. I guess everyone here is telling you it's OK but honestly... it's not... you should prepare yourself. But I've got a friend who might be able to fix it. So I'll call her, you go and look and we'll think of a solution.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div>I still didn't care. I was starting to find it a little bit funny. Hey the cake got trashed! If this was the worst thing that happened, we'd be OK. It would be a funny story.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div>Here's the cake: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCpqf-HVW69d2LSwJRxLAswcg8S1wFR77HsEnSz2WN0BFmjfxEthhGrs_YYwVg-02kfU85P4XReFErkg-733YDpozXDUEkzY0KQyeHDu4uRrYSybrhVDDFIyY9KWLWOlgZsKAXYXV8NhY/s400/IMG_0509.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696516466372925586" /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span>It's wrong how hungry this makes me</span></i></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>That's the victoria sponge cake layer there. On top were to be carrot cake, and green tea, ginger and vanilla. My god, it smelt amazing. Still, despite a tiny stomach flip when the box was undone (it does look a little surprisingly smashed, no doubt about it), nothing could shake the calm - the same one that descended as soon as we arrived. That was it. It had happened. Never mind. The top two layers were less smashed. We could still put those on the table to cut in case anyone cared about the photos. Done. Move on. It's just cake.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><div>L had been hugged and reassured as much as humanly possible. It was a freak accident. Just the extreme heat of the car. No one could have done anything differently. I could tell she still felt awful but I meant it. Not her fault.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div>So we went for dinner - delicious dinner, beef stew and then chocolate bread and butter pudding, catered by the farm. We sat upstairs in an old barn and got rather tipsy and then both parents brought out huge albums and packets of awful baby and child photos of J and I. Such a lovely evening. At some point. Lizzie's amazing mate arrived and began working on the cake in another building - I believed that she was patching up what she could.</div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UibeiibcXnq0BSezpj4mzY5wfScUHEJpsteanuOETRU-0hzLajIY7mquTKIRmpMBP2F1JY189VPqCWwaLk1tBXkEVYu4fYdP-1390GOd0QqDULHzPAjAb2To96ofqHzx51_lGAbd7KE/s400/DSC_0056.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696529975896122290" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left; "><i><span>Do I look like a girl worried about cake?</span></i></span></div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, as we ate breakfast, Lizzie invited me into the kitchen to see the cake. All decorations and icing had been removed and then carefully reapplied. The entire cake was re-iced and redecorated, and the bottom layer was an iced cake tin. The smashed layer would stay out the back and be served up - no one would be any the wiser.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is the cake we had the next day:</div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvnyPlrNNe8Tsmg7LE44NdKbE9mVkZB2X5Vj_Yn8QMWOPkXPtBKL0XY4DoOqyn3FW2DW6veRA1CwY5DSPLsbm5EJfLtmX1BMVC1eHccQsm-r6HgRUwNlrBfK1v2Xhpa9m_suoLCcrD0I/s400/claire-jon-108.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696521208466766562" style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div>I know. That's pretty awesome, right? It was returned to every bit of its former glory - you would never know a thing (unless you tried to eat the base.) It turned out Lizzie's mate was actually a professional baker. Her forte? Rude cakes. As Lizzie put it "ladies in bikinis and corsets for stag parties and men's bums." What a brilliant woman. They had stayed up until almost 3am, drinking sloe gin, gossiping and redecorating. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>The credits</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The baker par excellence was <a href="http://www.victorias-cake-boutique.co.uk/">Victoria Glass</a>. The cake collapse was not Victoria's fault in any way. She did everything right and bless her, even offered to make us another cake as a gesture - even though it really wasn't her fault, just the extreme extreme heat and a very unexpectedly long car trip.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her cakes are DELICIOUS of the highest order. Her flavour list is incredible (peanut butter and jelly wedding cake? No problem!) - and when you book her, you get a CAKE TASTING which will be one of the greatest afternoons you will ever have. Before we found Victoria (she did our friends' wedding cake) we weren't going to have a cake at all. That's how good she was - converted a couple of non-wedding cake fans into buying a pretty bloody big, awesome cake. I only ever wanted a tasty cake and I've said it before, but even the smell was intoxicating. I could have put my face into that smashed up bottom tier. Best. Cake. Ever.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cake fixer was a lady by the name of Kate Legg. Now I can't find a thing about her online, but if you ever want a rude cake in the Somerset region, I suggest you call Hunstile Farm and ask Lizzie to call Kate. </div><div><br /></div><div>All photos, bar the last one, are taken by friends and family. The last photo is by the wonderful photographer <a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/">Hannah Dornford-May</a>. More of hers to come...!</div><div><br /></div></div></div>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-4300384740108786402012-01-09T04:43:00.000-08:002012-01-09T05:11:00.553-08:00finally...the wedding. Part 1Well it's taken long enough, really. We only got married, what, four months ago now. <div><br /></div><div>(But there's a reason we had to wait. I had been told that someone wanted to blog the wedding. They told me they definitely wanted to do it. And out of decency, I waited. And then they didn't. So.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Hard to know where to start, really. It felt so all consuming, for the whole time we were engaged. I threw myself into it so whole-heartedly. I created things and organised things and I loved it. Bloody loved it. I even look back on the attempts to print things in the week before with something approaching fondness (I did not feel fond of it at the time).</div><div><br /></div><div>And what resulted? Truly one of the most amazing days of my life, done how we wanted. Happy guests who we know had a blast. </div><div><br /></div><div>And what followed put it all into perspective. We got married, had a honeymoon and then we moved our lives 400 miles away. The wedding? Piece of cake compared with that. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I'm going to try to keep this all fairly, relatively brief. I won't give you hour-by-hour recaps. And this is what I'm going to start with. A short 'trailer' video of our wedding. The video that almost wasn't, and was only decided upon two weeks before. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why so late? A cameraman schoolfriend of mine set up a small company with a friend, making wedding and corporate vids. I had given them a huge project through work, and as a favour, they offered to do our vid for expenses only. A bargain. So we did it.</div><div><br /></div><div>What this video centres on is our outdoor ceremony, performed by our friend. You will hear just a few lines of it (though if it would be helpful, I will post some of the detail). You finally get to see what I look like, the dress I won, the flowers I loved so much that I took them to the Outer Hebrides on honeymoon, and what J actually stands for (and indeed, what he looks like).</div><div><br /></div><div>The company that my friend formed is called <a href="http://makeitmedia.co.uk/">Make It Media</a> and they are based in the midlands. Best wedding video company in the midlands/Nottingham/Coventry? I think so... ;) </div><div><br /></div><div><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/29601279?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="400" height="225" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/29601279">Claire & Jon Wedding Montage</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/makeitmedia">makeitmedia</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-77677106427050939012011-11-29T15:14:00.000-08:002011-11-29T15:36:02.414-08:00rule number one<a href="http://www.toysandlearning.co.uk/prodimages/schleich-african-elephant-calf-p.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 301px; height: 301px;" src="http://www.toysandlearning.co.uk/prodimages/schleich-african-elephant-calf-p.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(<i><a href="http://www.toysandlearning.co.uk/schleich-african-elephant-calf-14322.htm">source</a></i>)</span></div><div><br /></div>I broke one of the only rules I ever set for myself the other day. At a party, someone said something nice about my appearance. <div><br /></div><div>What did I do? </div><div><br /></div><div>Absolutely categorically said no, no, I wasn't pretty, I was big and heavy and lumbering. Look at all these thin people - I feel like a monster next to them. Or in similar words, with a slightly tipsy bent. </div><div><br /></div><div>What the hell was I doing? The one rule - the main rule of being a woman. One I realised around age 13, when after many years of really bad bullying (which little did I realise, wasn't quite over) said I would never give anyone any ammunition with which to judge me again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why not: "Why thank you. That's very sweet of you to say"? or "Haha - thank you. Not sure I agree, but thank you anyway"? Why instead: "No, you are wrong - I am a troll."</div><div><br /></div><div>Not only did I humiliate myself a little by doing this, but I also basically told the person I was speaking to that she was wrong and her opinion invalid. Whether or not she honestly believed it, she felt moved enough to say it (apropos of nothing, by the way - it was not fished for).</div><div><br /></div><div>How can I stop doing this? I don't know. Perhaps it's good to do it occasionally, to realise what a thoroughly twattish thing it is to do. </div><div><br /></div><div>And that's not breaking the rule, incidentally. Sometimes I am a twat, but I hope that it's a temporary state. Unlike, say, the shape of my body (which though changing, will never be waif-like).</div><div><br /></div><div>Ladies - learn from my mistake! Let's stop doing this to ourselves and recognise when we do it. It is WRONG. Good on you if you don't need this reminder. I think every woman I know does. Maybe you are all paragons of not doing yourself down. In which case - write to me and tell me how you do it.</div><div><br /></div>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-88049950045495011382011-11-23T01:16:00.001-08:002011-11-23T01:20:18.699-08:00do i need a new blog?A genuine question, and one I can't quite make my mind up about. I do have another blog (indeed, a whole other online life) and that's why I blog here anonymously. I do love having this place, where I can write about things that have nothing to do with work, things that matter personally.<br /><br />But I can't escape from the fact that this blog began as something about the wedding. The name of it limits it slightly in that. There is now so much else I want to write about, but 'cakes and bunting' doesn't really cover it. But then I've built up a whole community of friends with this blog. Do I need to change it? It would seem natural to cover the wedding and then move onto a new place. But is this necessary, helpful?<br /><br />Thoughts?clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-12756233398693700232011-11-09T09:23:00.000-08:002011-11-09T09:34:27.368-08:00so...So I didn't blog about the wedding at the time, because I'd promised not to. Because, as you might remember, I won my dress. And so the kind and lovely people that gave me the dress really do have first dibs on pictures and things.<br /><br />But it's really just dawned on me that this doesn't mean that I can't talk about other parts of the wedding - that don't just yet involve the big shiny pictures or the video.<br /><br />And so I will. I'll tell you all about the eventful journey down, where Jon's mum and dad forgot the gallons of confetti and had to go back and get it, adding an unexpected three hours to their journey (they were a mere hour from London). I do love them but boy, they drive slowly.<br /><br />The same journey where we realised that a major component of our ceremony - the seating - was missing, and where in the interests of not being perceived as a mad bridezilla I gave the phone to J and let him sort it . And thus, what in a girl would be 'mad bridezilla' in a boy became 'assertive and no-nonsense'. Gender bias, eh? God that car ride was fraught.<br /><br />And the cake. The wonderful delicious cake that arrived the day before... well, it wouldn't be putting too fine a point on it to say "totally smashed". Yes. The cake that we weren't going to have, that we eventually decided to spend <span class="st">£250 on, and ended up spending </span><span class="st">£500 on, arrived largely destroyed. No one's fault - just a freak accident in the heat. And in the end, how it turned out fine.<br /><br />I'm going to do all this and post the pics I can, but will try to make the posts useful, rather than just recaps. Things I learned, things that came in handy and things that we honestly could not have given a shit about on the day. Because then perhaps they will come in useful for you too.<br /><br />I do feel a little sad that I haven't done this sooner but what with anticipating the photos going online for some time now, and holding off, and then having life hijacked by the move to Glasgow, my lovely 'wallowing in the wedding' time has been curtailed.<br /><br />Realistically, I'll be making the next post from Glasgow. Eek.<br /></span>clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-75409470642892073872011-10-17T16:36:00.001-07:002011-10-17T17:04:41.993-07:00the blosetOr - the 'blogging closet'. In other words, the thing I'm going to need to emerge from this week. I think it's fair to say (without giving too much away) that this is the week that I wave bye bye to blogging anonymity. I know that most of you that read this know who I am now, in some capacity at least.<br /><br />But I've been justifiably careful for a few reasons. One is my job. I work in the sort of line of work where people stumble across blogs. It wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist to work out that Claire of cakes and bunting was that Claire they knew, who was also getting married on a farm in Somerset. Secondly, J works in the line of work where it wouldn't do to have your fiance/wife wittering on about you (and I've been very careful not to). And thirdly - and really, tying in to the first two - is that I've laid myself rather bare on here. I've said what I think, said what I'm worried about, and written in a way that I could not have done if I'd been aware that friends would read it. Even J has promised he never will read it, though I may ask him to write something soon.<br /><br />Blogging was good preparation, in a way, for the wedding. Helping me to understand how to behave and react and how to process things. It gave me the confidence to create a day in which we took away all the things we thought were irrelevant for us and just left the meaningful parts - and the most fun parts.<br /><br />And the fact is that these things, and our wedding, were different to the norm. Maybe not the bloggy norm, where getting married in a golf club is waay retro trad (I'm awaiting the first ironic hipster '1991 themed wedding'). We had some of the things that are beyond traditional in blogland. Miles of bunting. Miles of it. Top quality, mum-produced stuff. A hogroast. But it was still different to any wedding I'd ever been to and I know it was the same for most of our guests.<br /><br />In doing it differently, we laid ourselves open to criticism - you take the protective layer off the top and it's easy for someone to rub salt in. We were incredibly lucky that this didn't happen and that everyone there embraced it, enjoyed it for what it was.<br /><br />And it's been the same with the blog. I removed a layer of cynicism and censorship and wrote, with some careful omissions for privacy's sake, what I wanted. Anonymity has allowed me to be much more open than I could have been otherwise.<br /><br />And in doing this, I've found a support network that has helped me through difficult decisions and stupid ones. I've had help developing a great sense of perspective and a healthy wedding BS filter. I've also (groan) genuinely grown as a person through the wedding experience, and blogging has been an integral part of this. And I've even made friends. Actual real friends through the internet. God bless you, Tim Berners-Lee.<br /><br />So I think this might be my last anonymous post. One day soon, you'll get to read a blog post broken up by pictures, rather than just my usual long ranty streams of text. I'll maybe finally tell you what I made, how I made things (if you care) and all sorts of stuff that I'd decided previously made me too identifiable. Ultimately, I had a blast and it was (whisper it) - kinda easy, mostly. Because we only did the important stuff. Plus a bit of bunting.<br /><br />But first, there will probably be some pictures. Brace yourselves.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-37862185638966945002011-10-14T06:43:00.000-07:002011-10-14T07:40:51.477-07:00dear wedding bloggers: carry on, nothing to see hereIf you read wedding blogs, or you're on Twitter, then you'll probably have seen <a href="http://hindsightbride.com/2011/10/10/open-letter-wedding-bloggers/#axzz1alOv3btD">this </a>over the past couple of days.<br /><br />It's a post by an anonymous photographer about how, in a nutshell, wedding blogs and their detail-orientation bias are stressing out brides and making them feel inferior. It's a plea for more of a focus on 'normal' weddings. And by that, they mean ones that are plainer.<br /><br />I don't know if anyone has noticed this (the photographer perhaps hasn't) but actually, there are <span style="font-style: italic;">already </span>blogs that feature weddings from the entire spectrum - from four people in a register office (or for our American friends, the courthouse) with no moustaches on sticks to ginormous traditional weddings with 500 people. From plain to elaborate. From handmade to out-of-the-box. And yes, some of them have had mason jars and bunting. Trends come, trends go. People like trends because they are exposed to them.<br /><br />Of course, some blogs only feature thin, model-like brides. C'est la vie. Or rather, c'est la media in general. But if that's all you can find then you're not looking hard enough. I've seen weddings featuring people of all religions and no religion. Of all shapes, sizes and colours. In this wonderful world of acceptance, I've read about Pagan weddings, elopements, weddings that happened on the spur of the moment, second weddings, weddings abroad, weddings on farms, weddings in back gardens. Every single one of these has been celebrated.<br /><br />Look at <a href="http://apracticalwedding.com/">A Practical Wedding</a>, <a href="http://offbeatbride.com/">Offbeat Bride,</a> <a href="http://www.anyotherwedding.com/">Any Other Wedding</a>, <a href="http://www.lovemydress.net/">Love My Dress</a> and so many more (and people <a href="http://averagejosephineswedding.wordpress.com/about/">are setting them up as we speak</a>) - and if you check out the comments on these blogs, you will find they link to personal blogs from thousands of brides (and some grooms too) who run their own corner of the internet, mulling these issues daily.<br /><br />They curate their own idea of what's important, and if they care to do so, they can define what they find attractive. They can control the pretty, redefine it and call bullshit.<br /><br />Blogs - in all their guises, whether they focus on the pretty, the dress, the groom, whatever - are what has given the confident voices to all of these women (and men). Blogs and the blogging world reinforces the idea that they <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">can</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>make up their own rules, and they <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">can</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>do whatever the hell they like for their wedding. Remember - just a few short years ago, all weddings largely looked one way. That they now very much do not all look one way - despite the fashion for mason jars and dressing up boxes, these sort of weddings are still a minority - is <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">because</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">of the popularity of the blog and the confidence it has given people.<br /></span><br />(If you want to see how things have changed in three short years, its worth reading a little about Rock n Roll Bride's own wedding, <a href="http://www.rocknrollbride.com/category/our-wedding/">as she explains how different the options available were in 2008.) </a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><br />People who get stressed out because their wedding is "too plain" would find something to get stressed out about if there were no blogs. Because some people are just like that.<br /><br />In short. Bloggers: as you were. Keep up the good work, team.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-46778287375579363662011-10-11T09:49:00.000-07:002011-10-11T09:58:49.392-07:00the anticipationIn my bag is a CD of images from our wedding. The official wedding photos. I haven't looked at them, immense restraint that not doing so required. We will look at them together tonight.<br /><br />But today, over lunch, I had a look at a few wedding blogs. Only the non-insane ones, I hasten to add. But I devoured them in the way that I have done so many times. Scrolling, scrolling, inhaling it all. All that effort, reflected in those few pictures.<br /><br />The details, the banners, the bunting, the dresses. The dancing, the thin-ness, the bridesmaids, the flowers. The getting ready pics. The dress hanging by the window. This is how I digested every wedding I ever looked at on the internet. This is how I got a 'feeling' of their day, and interpreted it in the light of our own. Every one changed the view of our wedding, in a tiny way.<br /><br />Now tonight, I will look at some more wedding photos. And I know that they will be amazing, because that's our photographer. <a href="http://www.hdmphotography.co.uk/">She is amazing</a>. But the content of the images will be our own, and that bride in that one dress, with her groom and her flowers, will be me. How will I feel? How will I judge it?clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-20138628277659520012011-10-05T14:46:00.001-07:002011-10-06T15:47:19.409-07:00moving<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d4/TubeMapZ1_TFL.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 469px; height: 342px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/d4/TubeMapZ1_TFL.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.tubemaplondon.org/images/standard-tube-map-large.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(Picture from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:TubeMapZ1_TFL.png">here</a>)</span><br /></div><br />On Sunday, some friends came for tea. Afterwards, I found myself giving driving directions to a friend heading back to south-east London. "Oh," I said nonchalantly, "you'll want to get to Hammersmith and drop down through Earls Court and cross the river at Vauxhall. Definitely quickest at this time on a Sunday."<br /><br />Well, I thought, shocked: my Dad would be proud to know that I inherited this trait from him - of having a map in your head, and reeling off routes. Do all Dads do this? I think maybe they do.<br /><br />But what I thought too, was - my god. I finally know this city, with its coloured lines under your feet, its hidden rivers and stinkpipes. I know its arteries and veins. I know how to get <span style="font-style: italic;">to</span> somewhere, and how to get <span style="font-style: italic;">from</span> somewhere, and that sometimes, depending on the time or the weather, these will be two different routes.<br /><br />When I see a bus with a destination on the front, I know roughly where it's headed. I know that if I sat on that bus, I could get home. Routes light up in my head like a landing strip, a dotted line leading to where I need to be. The a40, the a4, the a406.<br /><br />When someone tells me something about Acton, or Peckham, or Dulwich, or Park Royal, I know what they mean. I know where I shouldn't walk alone at night and where the tube map cheats tourists who pay <span class="st">£4 to ride 500 yards</span>. I can stand in Soho and just <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> which way to turn, even though it all looks the same. I can reassure my parents repeatedly that Soho isn't full of prostitutes in windows, but after six years, they'll still worry.<br /><br />I know precisely where to go for not just any curry, but the best. Ditto Thai, Japanese, Iranian, Ethiopian, Lebanese, Polish and god, even British food. I know where to take parents, friends, people new to town.<br /><br />I know the brilliance of driving through London at a quiet time. Between Christmas and New Year, joining the dots in the dark between the Houses of Parliament and Piccadilly Circus and gazing up afresh at the big flashing sign. Turning a corner and seeing a landmark, any of them. I still feel a humpback bridge whoosh of excitement when crossing the river. I've never bought anything from Harrods. But that doesn't stop me, sometimes, on a winter's night, getting off the Tube at Knightsbridge, bundled up in my scarf, just to look at the lights.<br /><br />I've sat in baking, baking traffic to reach a large patch of green, where I've jumped into my bathers and leapt into an icy pond. I've had an engagement picnic on the Heath. I still get lost, on occasion. I can hail a cab like I've done it all my life and no one would guess I'm a girl from the Midlands. I know places where you'll never get a cab for a million pounds, but I know which street to cross to find a thousand of them.<br /><br />I know where my local underground river flows. I know what was there before that block of flats. I know the little secrets of my parts of town.<br /><br />And today, I bought an old map of our area from a local antique bookshop, to hang on our new wall. A present for J, who loves maps and was looking at it longingly the other day. And as I paid, a book flashed at me from a stack on the till. It had a cover criss-crossed with red and white stripes, tartan. It was called 'The Clans of Scotland'.<br /><br />It really struck me that I'll be living in another country, rather imminently now. I have no idea what a clan is. Maybe no one gives a toss. Maybe it's something you're just meant to know. Or maybe any Scots reading this think I'm a dick for talking about clans. Who knows. I'll soon find out.<br /><br />Right now, there's just a gap where Glasgow should be. I've never even seen it. So very soon, I'll have to know nothing and start again.<br /><br />I won't know what topics of national discussion cause seething resentment until I've put my foot in it, probably a few times.<br /><br />I won't know what it means when someone tells me they are from Lumloch or Glenboig, or how I should get back if I accidentally found myself in Nerston.<br /><br />I am lucky that through this blog, I seem to have found a disproportionately high number of wonderful people in the vicinity. I hope they can tell us where to get a curry and find a fish and chip shop that sells mushy peas.<br /><br />We'll start again with the street we end up living in. We'll find our feet in the flat, then venture out to find the local, and then realise, perhaps a year later, that there's a much nicer pub two minutes round the corner, if only we'd known to look.<br /><br />We'll slowly learn which newsagent sells out of the good papers by 11am. We'll work out a route to the airport to collect friends and family, but even with the help of two satnavs and a map, it may well involve traffic and/or bickering.<br /><br />We'll find a supermarket. This will be very much like any other Asda, Sainsburys or Tesco in the country - except there will be some crucial differences which mean I won't be able to find the noodles.<br /><br />Just as I've got my head around the sociological implications of the North/South divide, and where exactly the East Midlands sits in that binary system (it's North, incidentally) no one is likely to note or care that I still said bus, rather than bahs, or grass, rather than grahse.<br /><br />I've allowed myself to feel what I've been ignoring, and London is starting to feel alien. The masses, masses of people. The skyline. When my parents last visited, as we crossed the a40 above Edgeware Road, my mum looked up and said: "the sky is just so... full... you can only see buildings..." and for a second, I saw it too.<br /><br />When we drove back in the dark, past the floating illuminated mass of Westfield, I felt like I was seeing it for the first time. How did you possibly reach that? How does one get into that big green iceberg? How does it make sense? Like landing in a foreign country and trying to work out the nuances of catching a train.<br /><br />When I stepped off the bus yesterday, I looked at up at the people who got off with me, rather than just ploughing on and ignoring them (the London way). How could all these people be getting onto one tube train? There were thousands of them.<br /><br />London, you've been great fun. I should think I'll always remember what you taught me. Hopefully if I can cope with the Northern line in 30 degree heat (ok, I didn't cope, it made me cry the first three times, but THEN I coped) then, Glasgow, I can deal with your subway and buses. I might get used to it, even. I might find I'm home. Maybe we'll be back one day. Hopefully the good takeaways won't have changed.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-11163945810901119702011-10-04T03:33:00.000-07:002011-10-04T03:35:55.004-07:00humbledSometimes there are things that come along like a smack in the face and make you understand a lot more about life in one fell swoop.<br /><br />Sometimes, those things make you embarrassed about your previous thoughts and behaviour.<br /><br />This is one of those things. This blog, written by an engaged lady with terminal cancer.<br /><a href="http://poppiesandepiphanies.blogspot.com/"><br />http://poppiesandepiphanies.blogspot.com/</a><br /><br />Please go and visit.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-9420821448878196502011-09-28T10:06:00.000-07:002011-09-28T10:20:14.556-07:00sadSo the wedding was amazing. Incredible. So full of love, just...amazing.<br /><br />But then I had to do something that made me sad. Even as I was doing it, it made me sad. And it made J sad, which made me sadder.<br /><br />I looked at the first photos of the wedding, just a couple of days later. My first thought was: "wow, those flowers are great." My second thought, almost concurrent with the first was: "I'm not thin enough". I hated myself for thinking it. But I couldn't stop. I'd wanted to look thin, willowy. I'd wanted to look like someone J could pick up and spin around. I'd wanted to look like this:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.polkadotbride.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/sarah-seven002.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 508px;" src="http://images.polkadotbride.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/sarah-seven002.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(picture of the Sarah Seven dress I originally fell in love with, from <a href="http://www.polkadotbride.com/2009/12/sarah-seven/">here</a>)</span><br /></div><br />It's not like I didn't know what size I was before the wedding. But I'd just thought: "There's nothing I can do about this. Push it out of your mind." And I did.<br /><br />I said this to J and he was upset. He said I was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that day, he thought I looked just incredible. And he said to stop saying otherwise, because it was upsetting for him to hear it.<br /><br />But it's like a scab. A horrible suppurating scab that you can't stop picking at.<br /><br />Last night, I went to slimming club. I got weighed, and I hadn't gained too much on honeymoon. But I did a recap of how much I'd lost before the wedding.<br /><br />In the past year, from my current weight with honeymoon gain, I've lost 6lbs. This year, after gaining 7lbs at Christmas, I lost a stone (half of it the 7lbs from Christmas) before I had to start maintaining in June. I lose slowly because I go out and see friends. I've always known why I lose slowly. But I tell myself - trying a bit harder, turning down a few drinks. I could have been half a stone lighter or more.<br /><br />I was disappointed with myself. My BMI when we got married was 'obese'. I hated myself for not trying harder, for still having that appalling label attached to me, which upsets me so much. Four lbs lower and I'd have been merely 'overweight'.<br /><br />I wanted the way I looked on my wedding day to be something I could own and feel proud of. To be something like the way I might look for the rest of my life. I still want that, if I can just stop thinking like this. You don't need to tell me that there are more important things in life than half a stone on your wedding day. I know. I get it. But I still felt like I'd let myself down.<br /><br />J tells me that no one cares about my weight, I looked gorgeous and that's what people see. A happy, beautiful girl. He said I looked thin.<br /><br />I hate myself for picking this scab and upsetting myself and J.<br /><br />I wish I could say 'I looked amazing, I looked like me'. J says I looked like me. I say: "I don't know what I look like, or what I'm meant to look like. So how can I know?"<br /><br />Has anyone ever said they felt truly gorgeous? Why can't I just own it? I hate myself for making us both sad over this when the wedding was pure happiness.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-36802568326793039162011-09-26T05:28:00.000-07:002011-09-26T05:49:03.249-07:00whewWell, dear reader, it's been more than a month since my last post. In that time, I've got married, traveled to the furthest reaches of the British Isles for a honeymoon in the Outer Hebrides, and today, returned to work with an extra ring on my finger and a desperate desire to check Facebook for new photographs of the wedding every five minutes.<br /><br />There will be recaps, I'm sure of it. But it's quite hard to digest everything now, or to know where to start. I just received the 'taster tape' from the videographers (oh yes, we had them in the end - an interesting story) and it made me feel nervous and gave me butterflies in a way that I never felt on the day.<br /><br />So what do I tell you in this post, while I collect my thoughts? I think I can tell you that the wedding was better than I ever thought it could be. People seemed to have an amazing time. Everything went well - and the one thing that didn't initially look like going too well (a rather destroyed wedding cake) eventually turned out fine. And I wouldn't have cared either way.<br /><br />Everyone arrived safe, had a ball, and got home safely. The details were ultimately, quite important - but they weren't flippantly decorative - everything had a meaning to us. Our friends were amazing, our families were amazing. The venue, the suppliers - everyone - was amazing. I'm sorry if this makes boring reading, but this is a topline view. The details are interesting, I promise.<br /><br />But in order to tell you about some of the details, I'm going to have to come out of the blogging closet, as it were. The bloset. I don't see that I can do this without posting pictures of myself up here, or pictures that would identify the wedding and ourselves. So I'll be doing that. But understandably, because there are some things written about here that aren't yet fully public, I can't do it just yet. So there might be some posts about 'feelings' before there are posts about pretties. I hope you can forgive me.<br /><br />Oh and an interesting one. Before the wedding, those of you who follow me on Twitter might have seen an attempt at being amusing with the hashtag #atw - or 'after the wedding', where I talked about the daft things I would no longer be doing in the days following the wedding. What I did not anticipate doing two days after the wedding, was sitting on a desolate beach on Skye, bawling my eyes out with the most intense sadness for the wedding that was over. I'd heard about the post-wedding blue. I never thought I'd get them. But in the end, the wedding got me good and proper. I've never been as in love with a day as I was then.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-27819801183203590822011-08-19T05:42:00.000-07:002011-08-19T06:42:14.558-07:00the makers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTugBiMznEjBaYbIqTVjwpjwrasjNUFblLmHPBpqp93gQ3URTGVMmCAo9ozSTaDVs5AQfmfwSG2Tw0KeV_zzxii95up9ekVA0yH1bFB13kt3qUWLVWggqxQy1lIiOMI1EXyaIv54xxd6g/s1600/IMG_0182.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTugBiMznEjBaYbIqTVjwpjwrasjNUFblLmHPBpqp93gQ3URTGVMmCAo9ozSTaDVs5AQfmfwSG2Tw0KeV_zzxii95up9ekVA0yH1bFB13kt3qUWLVWggqxQy1lIiOMI1EXyaIv54xxd6g/s320/IMG_0182.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642552604096789106" border="0" /></a>
<br />People talk a lot about 'handmade' weddings. Rustic, vintagey things that have, in the year and a half that J and I have been engaged, almost become a wedding cliche in themselves. That's what our wedding will look like. Lots of things will be handmade. I think it's lovely. The invitations were handmade, and I am so very very lucky that the dress will be too.
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<br />I'm also very lucky in that handmade is just the normal way of things for many people in my life. It's the way things were when I grew up, and for J too. The major 'makers' in our life are our parents.
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<br />So this post is for the makers of things that will make the wedding. They won't read it, but it's a thank you to them, for every time I've made an enquiry, asking 'i was just wondering...how easy would it be to do x y z?' they have just gone away, done it before we even knew it, or just surprised us with things and been totally amazing.
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<br />I didn't think this would be the case at all. I didn't think I knew enough crafty people. What a fool not to think that our parents are the original crafters. They are amazing.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My mum</span>
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<br />My mum and dad make things. They just can, and do, and always have. When I asked mum if she could make some bunting (I can do it, but she has the sewing machine), within a week she had sent over seven samples for various bunting designs that she had just dashed off. Now, we have 70+metres of bunting in two sizes (for two locations) which has been sitting in an airtight bag, fully pressed for four months.
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<br />I suggested we fill some activity bags for children. I found the bags online, discussed it with her. She declared the bags for sale online rubbish and proceeded to procure age-appropriate fabrics for all children in attendance (including some Paddington Bear fabric, found in a charity shop as a former pair of curtains) and make and fill all the bags. She'd done two before she even told me. I also asked if she (and J's mum, see below) would help me make jam and chutney for favours. She is an avid jam and chutney maker anyway. She has produced 35 jars. I fully anticipated about 10 from her and making about 50 myself. This is now totally unnecessary.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My dad</span>
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<br />My dad is a rare breed indeed. He has always been able to make and fix anything, and I mean <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>make, <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>fix. He fits kitchens, mends cars, turns wood, does everything. So I asked him if he could knock together a quick box. I was thinking four sides, a base, that's it. Just for the guest book postcards on the night, something to drop them into. I know he could do that in half an hour.
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<br />He has produced an oak chest, with beautiful vintage style hinges (which he made HIMSELF - my tiny mind boggles at this) and an engraved plaque on the front, with both our names, the date of the wedding and the name of the farm. Wow. Just...wow. I should add that he made it in about three days in the evenings after work. It is incredible.
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<br />I also asked him if he could cut some little blocks of wood with slits in, just to hold table numbers. Instead, he sent me a photo of some bent-wire heart-shaped table number holders that he'd just 'knocked together'. He'd seen the wire heart we're using to hold the table plan and just copied it in table number holder form. He asked if I liked the photo of one he'd made and texted over and by the end of the day, he'd made 12 and sprayed them cream to match the table plan heart thing (which I just stumbled across in a gift shop). I need to do one of those 'surprised smiley' face things here. WOW.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">J's mum</span>
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9gJGNEeK31oWx2O32DvLcSLhRhRrIn2kYMKCdYu_95KwJRM0hQOpN4yVmic2qjeCtb2s-YO0bvz90PD85F07cdfG7kqqJA_-zuqSZbTLdYXfhFBBE7QZA926PlR9LNsLK_ChsgKp4Ok/s1600/IMG_0192.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9gJGNEeK31oWx2O32DvLcSLhRhRrIn2kYMKCdYu_95KwJRM0hQOpN4yVmic2qjeCtb2s-YO0bvz90PD85F07cdfG7kqqJA_-zuqSZbTLdYXfhFBBE7QZA926PlR9LNsLK_ChsgKp4Ok/s320/IMG_0192.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642551972772997170" border="0" /></a>
<br />Just after we got engaged, J's mum asked us: "What colours do you like in the bedroom?"
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<br />Erm... OK. We thought she was maybe upholstering us a chair (her big hobby, restoring antique chairs). We said blue and cream. She asked for specifics. OK: <a href="http://www.victorianweb.org/art/architecture/pancras/12b.jpg">St Pancras Blue</a>. She wouldn't divulge any more.
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<br />At a pre-wedding lunch she threw for us (really, for all the oldies that can't make the wedding itself), we were presented with a large, tissue-wrapped parcel. Inside, was the most incredible blue and white quilt, onto which she had sewn all of our favourite things. There were swimmers (for we are avid swimmers, famous in J's family for our love of wild swimming) and buttons and blue and cream and embroidered words: bake, film, swim, and hillariously, 'his car'. (J loves is knackered, 16-year-old VW Polo) and more.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuW3h3yzTjXpbP_4IrWmO18hNWuV7RqzYfsJwWRqYaM-dKLZ7mhSHM2vdklgK2dF1qUf8axBaelNzAW3UTqUxdW4BVo-cSKV0_u4F4S-920bBPEwELVUrea0InJhlnpvoKbxSUkt8nFWo/s1600/IMG_0196.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuW3h3yzTjXpbP_4IrWmO18hNWuV7RqzYfsJwWRqYaM-dKLZ7mhSHM2vdklgK2dF1qUf8axBaelNzAW3UTqUxdW4BVo-cSKV0_u4F4S-920bBPEwELVUrea0InJhlnpvoKbxSUkt8nFWo/s320/IMG_0196.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642552442135063474" border="0" /></a>
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<br />And on the back is embroidered a large heart, with our names, initials and the date of the wedding. And in the corner, on the back, a screenprint of our invitation.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-lqKoPCvOX04HNhAEU0hC0I-q_K-4762j4Xq8NxokXp5EEHhaiAlMHJBus5Z-J2Z3Ux3aL51FsgZWvzKoa3I4q1TBz19BmxMv4_l3UiUbjZPEIO0czX-ZU4DLBxYolh6ZP90BCLaBXk/s1600/quilt+blurred+names.jpeg">
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<br />Of course, the quilt won't be there on the day. But it will be with us forever.
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<br />J's mum has also made about 50 jars or assorted jams and chutneys using the glut of produce from her allotment (again, she does this every year - averaging around 200 jars by autumn). And when I told her that we had to buy natural petals for confetti, she looked thoughtful. The next time we visited, she showed me a carrier bag of petals that she had assiduously saved and dried. Now she has enlisted the help of the flower grower on the next allotment, her own garden and bunches of flowers in the house and is onto her third carrier bag.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Friends have also been makers</span>. One friend and best lady arrived at the hen do with the most divine decorations - string balls on a garland, mini bunting, pom poms. Where had she got these amazing things? Oh, she said, I just made them. She has been teaching me how to make giant pom poms. She is the queen of the pom.
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<br />And there have been other makers too - ones we have paid. My earrings are handmade by <a href="http://www.angela-evans.co.uk/#%21vstc1=page-2">this wonderful lady, Angela Evans,</a> who has also made the presents for both mums. Some best ladies' presents are vintage necklaces. Other are from independent designers like <a href="http://joannarutter.bigcartel.com/">Joanna Rutter. </a>But there will be a fuller run down of all of these things after the event.
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<br />I never dreamed that we would be so inundated with wonderful things. People have created heirlooms for us. I think team C&J's parents could be hired out for weddings.
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<br />clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-69320524516668458492011-08-18T05:46:00.000-07:002011-08-18T07:57:39.806-07:00where we're atSo, we leave to get married two weeks tomorrow. I thought you might like an update on where we are at.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The moolah</span>
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<br />Is almost gone. It's a shocker, to look at how much we've spent, even though we did it with full knowledge and awareness. We were both getting a little tense about it last night. We have gone over our budget by some, but not much (and that includes honeymoon and rings).
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<br />It's been shocking to see that much money leave our account, but the big realisation last night was that this was why we had the money in the first place. Some was ours, some was so kindly gifted from parents. <span style="font-style: italic;">The money would not have existed without the wedding. </span>They didn't give it us to look at. We just need to do them proud with it.
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<br />We haven't wasted money anywhere, of that I am sure. OK, well, maybe I've wasted £20 on an excess of tissue paper. But that's it. We wanted (well, needed) a budget wedding, and we have one .
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<br />The people remaining to pay are simply the venue, the florist and the minibuses. Absolutely everything else is paid for. It's a nice feeling. Not the skintness, but the almost-done-ness.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The attire</span>
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<br />The dress is yet to arrive. It's a little late, but not unduly (6-8 weeks was the given timeframe - we're now at 8.5 and it'll be 9.5 when it arrives). Let's hope it fits! A dressmaker is on standby...
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<br />I have shoes, but no pants. No necklace either - until the dress arrives.
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<br />J's suit is purchased. In fact, he has two of them. He was between sizes, so bought the larger, then decided to lose a few lbs (he is by no means overweight) and then bought the second. Now we just need to take the larger one back
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The weight</span>
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<br />Is relatively stable at around 3.5 stones lost. I am now a size 14-16 - down from a 22-24. I'm quite tall at 5 foot 8/9 so I hope I wear it well.
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<br />This maintaining thing is going OK. However, the lack of exercise is apparent - I tried on dress #1 (for the register office) and it was rather tight over that all important stomach and arse section. So it's true what they say about inches and pounds. Sometimes the inches go (or come back) and the pounds stay the same. So I'm dropping about another 4lbs, which should do it, and going running and (urgh) spinning.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The printing
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<br /></span>Holy heck. The amount of printing that is required is quite astonishing. And because we don't have a printer, this involves us coming into my office and, ahem, making use of the facilities (with my boss's blessing) to print out music quizzes, programmes for the day, signs, ceremonies, postcards, poems, blah, blah.
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<br />How hard is it to print out a double sided folding thing with all the text in the right place and some sense of design? Very hard, that's how. I am thinking that after this is all done, I will happily share these files with anyone else to amend and use if it saves even one person the hell of trying to move text boxes outwards in a symmetrical fashion so that you don't print it out and realise it looks ugly as sin.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The ceremony</span>
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<br />Is written, in a version we can embrace. The vows are as yet unwritten, but we will do them this weekend. I'm thinking a 150 word limit each will be good. We're going to write them separately and then come together and discuss them. No surprises on the day.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The decoration</span>
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<br />Some pom poms are made. But there aren't enough layers in some so I need to make some more. My mum has made miles of bunting and I have a glue gun and lots of buttons for glueing on things (oh, yes, the invitations had buttons glued on them. Post-wedding, I shall show you all these things, when my anonymity has gone out of the window anyway!) It's a theme I've decided we'll continue. Not least because I still have about 300 vintage buttons leftover which I'm not sure I'll find another use for any time soon. We've got a heart shaped box we can stick some onto, and they're going to go onto all the 'programmes' (sounds stupid but not sure what else to call them) too.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Readings and poems</span>
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<br />Hard as hell to settle on. We've decided on two for the ceremony, two in the 'programme' and then loads pinned up on a line with photos of all our friends (J's idea). DO NOT start looking for new poems at this stage.
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<br />What else do i have to to tell you? What else do I need to do? What might I have forgotten?
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<br />clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-3657147922361724262011-08-16T07:16:00.000-07:002011-08-16T07:20:25.679-07:00two and a half weeks before the wedding......is no time to discover wedding inspiration. And yes, J, though you never read this blog, I am talking to you.
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<br />I sent J a photo: hey, look, these people are doing something similar to us (pegging photos up on a line, guestbook postcards) - doesn't it look cool? And he says (and this is a <span style="font-style: italic;">direct</span> quote):
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<br />"Hey – wonder if we could go to a car boot sale and buy a stack of ancient postcards for people to write on and peg up...?"
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<br />ARRRGGGH!
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<br />To which I answered: this is exactly the sort of thing I tried to talk to you about six months ago, when we would have time to visit the 20-40 different car boot sales we would have needed to find exactly that. Not two and a half weeks before.
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<br />Someone buy that man a copy of Cosmo Bride, pronto.
<br />clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-51953067305047239032011-08-12T08:19:00.000-07:002011-08-12T08:21:50.681-07:00t minus three weeksSome element of calm has descended over the past 48 hours. Slowly, very slowly, things are falling into place. About two weeks ago, the amount of admin that needed doing, coupled with the logistics of a move to Glasgow in three months’ time (with one of those months almost entirely spent away on honeymoon) made me feel actually sick on a very regular basis.
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<br />But as of now, things are being ticked off. Every night we sit down and look at the list and JFDI, as much as we can, before we collapse into bed. I can envisage a time when we’ve actually turned the entire to-do list green (the green highlighter pen function = a very visible DONE). I am still sans dress, but hope that will be here too next week. Then once I have a necklace, my attire is DONE. Most people are paid (apart from the band, the flower lady and, uh, the venue) and the bank account is close to blissful peace once again.
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<br />My plan of having August to relax has not worked thus far, but we might get a week to relax before the wedding and that would be OK. As long as work doesn’t get in the way – and I’m determined not to spend the week before the wedding on 14 hour days. It’s not healthy.
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<br />There are things I have to blog about that are less boring than this (because really, this is a pretty boring time – I’m ticking things off a list for christssake. No more time for beautiful pictures as our decisions are MADE.)
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<br />For example: I have to tell you about the wedding quilt my mother-in-law spent a year and a half making for us, covered with all of our favourite things. I have to tell you about bridesmaid gifts and the politics of it. I have to tell you about the gifts for the mums which I bloody love, and the logistics of trying to work out how to manicure and make up eight people in four hours and how we got around it.
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<br />I have to tell you about writing a ceremony and vows and about how much booze you need for one of these things (a fuck-lot, really. LOADS.) I have to tell you about the wooden chest my dad has made by hand, along with all the table number holders which are incredible, really. About the four carrier bags of petals my mother in law, off her own back, decided she would dry to make confetti – and her jam making prowess. About the 80m of bunting and 50 jars of jam/chutney perfectly fashioned by my mum, and about how I became the type of bride who goes from ‘we won’t have a cake’ to spending £500 on a cake and feeling excited about it.
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<br />But for now, you’ll have to imagine all of the above, for I have a to-do list to tick.
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<br />clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-26044184695754834662011-07-22T06:30:00.000-07:002011-07-22T06:31:40.960-07:00on bailing out #2Sometimes, however, bailing out is for the best.<br /><br />I received a letter this week - a card in a pink envelope with handwriting I recognised as that of my oldest friend, L.<br /><br />I knew what was coming, but still held out hope that she’d just written me a nice letter (we do that for each other, sometimes).<br /><br />Inside was an explanation of why her depression meant she could not come to the wedding. She had been unsure a while ago, because of costs. Her job is insecure. She’s just bought a house. But then she worked it out and decided to come.<br /><br />But then the big D struck – worse than it ever has before. When getting out of bed and going to work in the morning seems like an impossible task, then getting in the car, driving three hours to a wedding and standing around, eating and drinking with lots of strangers, is unfeasible. Coupled with the money worries which hadn’t gone away, the idea was terrifying her.<br /><br />The letter was very teary, asking me if I could ever forgive her. Clearly it had been a huge trial even to pick up the pen.<br /><br />So when I called her and said that of course this was OK and reassured her that I wasn’t going to shout at her for ruining the wedding or demand she attend (seriously, would anyone do that?) she just said it had been a huge relief to make the decision. I impressed upon her that retiring from life was not a good idea but supported her need to do whatever required to recover. I just want her to be OK.<br /><br />The invitation is open for another week before we have to give figures, so she’s got a chance to change her mind, though by her own admission, she may just turn up on the day, not eat anything and drive back if she wants to come. She’s impulsive when she wants to be.<br /><br />But really, all I feel is relieved on her behalf. A tactical bailout that I hope will pay off for her.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-22660367126922987642011-07-22T06:27:00.000-07:002011-07-22T06:30:50.139-07:00on bailing out #1Two bail outs in the past two weeks. Coupled with the bail out from <a href="http://cakesandbunting.blogspot.com/2011/01/photographer-blues.html">the friend doing the photography a few months ago</a> (which happily, <a href="http://cakesandbunting.blogspot.com/2011/01/cheap-and-brilliant-wedding.html">ended brilliantly</a>), this makes three.<br /><br />The first of the most recent bailings you might know about if you <a href="http://twitter.com/cakesandbunting">follow me on Twitter</a>. The hair and make-up lady that I had booked, following much research almost a year ago, suddenly decided that I wasn’t worth her time. Luckily (for her) I don’t believe that it’s right to name and shame. But after what happened, I was sorely tempted.<br /><br />I wish I could put it a better way, but after much thought, it really did seem to be that I wasn’t paying enough –she clearly had a better offer from someone with deep pockets.<br /><br />When I booked, it took me a couple of weeks to make a decision on whether to go ahead because of the small matter of a budget. I mentioned this – and she said we could make it work. She also emailed me a couple of times every week to ask how I was getting on; was there anything she could do to help? She assured me I was doing the right thing.<br /><br />In the end, I was won over. She seemed amazing. The total cost (because I really wish someone had talked costs with me earlier on) was going to be £50 for a trial, and £180 for hair and make-up on the day. So £230. Plus travel costs – about £40. Not the cheapest – but she seemed so good, and I decided that this would be a real treat – for a girl who barely wears make up and never does anything with her hair (ie. me). But it was RIGHT AT THE TOP of what I could afford. I was shocked at the price, but assumed it was the going rate.<br /><br />Until last Friday, it was all going well. We were planning a trial and sorting out a date. Then she said she was concerned. Was it just me having my make up and hair done? Well, yes, I said: it was. I’d said it might be from the start. I’d even filled in a form in January that listed just me, no one else. With each bridesmaid an extra £55 for make up ONLY and five best ladies, it was just a huge stretch.<br /><br />Well, she said, she’d DEFINITELY told me that she didn’t come out just to do the bride. And she had a £400 minimum booking fee.<br /><br />Woah. That was a punch to the gut. And seven weeks before the wedding. Not nice.<br /><br />Hmm. How to resolve this? This is not a conversation I remember having. She certainly asked if there was anyone else in the party and I said I’d check. She never said I’d lose the booking if there wasn’t, or I’d have never booked. Red flags would have popped up all over the place. I’m no dumb bride. And then I'd filled in the form with no one else - and no queries.<br /><br />Also, I’d suggest that something so vital to the process should not be in an ‘I’m sure I told you this phone call’ but WRITTEN DOWN from the very beginning so that everyone is clear. But no – there’s no mention of it. No T&Cs, nothing on the website. Nothing at all, in fact.<br /><br />Luckily, I get my deposit back (perhaps recognition on her part that this could have been HER screw up, rather than mine). And it’s worked out for the best. It seems that my gut instinct was right all along. She was rather pricey. And I have now several people who can do a great job, for a little fairer price. And best of all, I feel that maybe I can rely on them, this time...clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9113839210733169207.post-12345456607523480182011-07-14T05:35:00.000-07:002011-07-14T06:02:07.431-07:00my best ladies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ispoilmovies.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/o-movie-trailer-for-kristen-wiig-s-bridesmaids.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 645px; height: 253px;" src="http://www.ispoilmovies.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/o-movie-trailer-for-kristen-wiig-s-bridesmaids.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">(<a href="http://www.ispoilmovies.com/?p=1210"><span style="font-style: italic;">source</span></a>)</span><br /></div><br />First of all, I wasn’t having bridesmaids. Then, I realised that I would have no one to get ready with, no one to drink champagne with, have a little cry with beforehand. Or no one official at least. And I have some great friends.<br /><br /><br />But at the same time – I really didn’t want to impose on them, to make them feel like they had to do things that might bore them, stress out over dresses or fulfil some list of duties**. But I might want to ask them the odd favour. They’d have helped out, official recognition or not – I have no doubt. But it’s nice to recognise people who go out of their way to help you. (**NOT that I’m saying that’s what all bridesmaids feel. I’m sure it’ s not. But the term was still too formal for us.)<br /><br /><br />So what I have is ‘best ladies’. I asked six friends, and one declined – she has confidence issues and depression, but is the most wonderful friend, but the thought of performing any sort of role made her anxious. So – five. Picked because they are wonderful, honest, loyal, kind, helpful, creative and have a great eye for detail. One of them, for my birthday just after we got engaged, bought me a packet of floral pegs which she gave to me with such excitement, certain that they would be perfect for the wedding. And she was right. I’ve never been as happy with a packet of pegs.<br /><br /><br />These ladies can wear what they like, but somehow realised that most of them already owned a green dress, and that they might wear them together. One is still searching for one, so that might happen. But I truly don’t care if it doesn’t. They all have the offer of a corsage or a flower for their hair and have accepted with glee.<br /><br />They threw me the most amazing hen weekend (which now I think perhaps I will blog about after all) and one lady revealed a hitherto unsuspected ability for making pom poms and other papercraft. Now I have a bag full of tissue paper to take to her house tomorrow for some hours making poms and drinking, and perhaps barbecuing in the rain.<br /><br />One BL is taking the cake the venue – three hours out of London, and she’s pretty scared that she might either drop or eat it. But it’ll be fine, I know it. Then on the morning, we’ll be fluffing up some poms, stringing bunting and possibly already drinking something fizzy. They will go to the ceremony location ahead of time and cover the trees with decorations and lay out order of services. Then they will carry on being some of the finest ladies on the planet, getting drunk and dancing their backsides off. And I will thank them from the bottom of their beautiful hearts.clairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488607759792842678noreply@blogger.com5