the morning - the second part

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.

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.

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.

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.

the morning - the first part

The 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.

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"

Poem for a Daughter

“I think I’m going to have it,”
I said, joking between pains.
The midwife rolled competent
sleeves over corpulent milky arms.
“Dear, you never have it,
we deliver it.”
A judgment years prove true.
Certainly I’ve never had you

as you still have me, Caroline.
Why does a mother need a daughter?
Heart’s needle, hostage to fortune,
freedom’s end. Yet nothing’s more perfect
than that bleating, razor-shaped cry
that delivers a mother to her baby.
The bloodcord snaps that held
their spheres together. The child,
tiny and alone, creates the mother.

A woman’s life is her own
until it is taken away
by a first particular cry.
Then she is not alone
but part of the premises
of everything there is:
a time, a tribe, a war.
When we belong to the world
we become what we are.

Anne Stevenson

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.

the night before and the tale of the smashed cake

The most beautiful sky

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.

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.

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...)

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.

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).

And then, while I was having my nails painted, my mum came into the room.

Mum: Don't freak out, but something's happened.

Me: [thinking the worst: motorway pile ups, child fallen off trampoline in garden, ambulances] What? What is it?

Mum: It's the cake. It's a bit... smashed.

Me: Oh thank god. Is it stil edible?

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.

Then the amazing wedding organiser and farmer's partner Lizzie came into the room.

Lizzie: 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 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.

Here's the cake:

It's wrong how hungry this makes me

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.

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.

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.

Do I look like a girl worried about cake?

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.

And this is the cake we had the next day:

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.

The credits

The baker par excellence was Victoria Glass. 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.

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.

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.

All photos, bar the last one, are taken by friends and family. The last photo is by the wonderful photographer Hannah Dornford-May. More of hers to come...!

finally...the wedding. Part 1

Well it's taken long enough, really. We only got married, what, four months ago now.

(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.)

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

The company that my friend formed is called Make It Media and they are based in the midlands. Best wedding video company in the midlands/Nottingham/Coventry? I think so... ;)

Claire & Jon Wedding Montage from makeitmedia on Vimeo.

rule number one

(source)

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.

What did I do?

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.

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.

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."

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).

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.

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).

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.

do 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.

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?

Thoughts?

so...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 £250 on, and ended up spending £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.

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.

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.

Realistically, I'll be making the next post from Glasgow. Eek.