Today I have ‘wedding withdrawal symptoms’ which sits uncomfortably between my perfectly manicured French nails and the pastel decorated invitation positioned on a ledge above the fireplace. I can hardly believe that just six months ago, after a surprise engagement announcement at New Year, we were discussing dates and venues and now it’s all over.
The wedding day, rather like Mary Poppins, was ‘practically perfect in every way’, which is a little surprising considering…
After flying in from Cyprus in the early hours of Saturday morning, we arrived at our adopted home for the week. This was a spacious, country house, surrounded by the beautiful Nottinghamshire countryside – rolling hills, cornfields and green hedges. Every morning when I woke up it was a delight to roll up the blind and see blue skies (most days) with the garden and fields beyond bathed in that gentle golden morning light.
But less of the mesmerizing view, because there was work to be done, scones to be baked and decorations to be prepared. I had volunteered myself to make 50 scones, which didn’t seem too bad until I realized baking in someone else’s kitchen can be tricky. It also helps to read the recipe properly. After a long hunt for kitchen scales (hard to find when you don’t know what they look like) and even longer working out how to put the mixer together, I had two trays of scones laid out ready for the oven. Glancing down at the recipe on the ipad, I suddenly saw the word ‘sugar’ leap out at me from the page. Sugar indeed! I hadn’t added it…but not too late to put all the carefully cut scones back into the mixer and add the sugar, roll them out again and carefully lay them out on the trays again…several hours later and sort of miraculously scones eventually appeared from the oven. They were a little like ‘Sellafield scones’ – absolutely massive and odd shapes, but hopefully not radioactive. Never mind, I let them cool and put them in the freezer…hoping everyone else baking for the wedding had created scones with less stress.
The next day there were paper boats to decorate, polo mints to thread on strings for lifebuoys, cocktail sticks to fix onto mini flags and a pile of orders of service to be strung together. A talented team, laden with craft skills, made light work of this, while I hovered between assisting with lunch, making coffees and excitedly hugging the bride-to-be in my patchwork dungarees.
The day before the wedding we headed to the reception venue, via the flower people, where bunting needed to be hung, and tables decorated, jam jars and driftwood had to be unpacked and arranged. At lunchtime there was a rough picnic, while everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Amidst cake and tea later that afternoon, there was excitement in the air and everyone was hoping the pile of umbrellas in the corner were just a precaution. Late that night, the delayed arrival of the bride’s elder brother on his motor bike, was the icing on the cake and we were all set for the big day.
On the morning of the wedding, after a stroll to a local lake and a delicious family brunch, the house started filling up with bridesmaids and photographers. Everyone needed, hairdryers, mirrors, ironing boards and cups of tea all at the same time, and just when I thought it was safe to jump in the shower, there was a call that the flower people had arrived. Meanwhile, while I ran around the house in search of nail varnish, there was shouting in the garden, where the recently showered ushers were attempting sweaty acrobatics and summersaults on the trampoline. I now have it on good authority that the clock really does speed up on the day of the wedding…the hours between 11am and 2pm disappeared in a flash and suddenly we were helping the bride into her stunning dress, fixing on the veil and before I knew it, I was watching her walk towards me down the aisle with her father. It was wonderful, perfect, special and all ran smoothly from the paper boats and bunting to the tea, scones and pimms on the lawn.
But today, I’ve got the post wedding blues. The planning and preparation is all over and the bride and groom long gone to a secret destination. My Mother-of-the-Bride day is done, so I suppose it’s time to shake out the dungarees and get back to work. It’s not all about the wedding anymore, but that very special time with family and friends has left me pining for ‘home’ and green fields and England.