You waited long enough, so here they are!

I'm really torn as to how to present these. My instinct is to do it chronologically, which seems more factually documentaric. But it won't be the most dramatic. No, I want to give them to you with the big splash at the end. So this is going to be a bit random, but I'm sure you can cope with that.

All the photos with the little watermark in the corner were taken by Hamish Roots, owner of Light Over Water Photography. He is the shiznit.

The others were taken by my parents' friend, Joanie.

The Infamous Cake

My dress
(And no, this shot wasn't posed. I didn't even know it was being taken. I always stand that straight.)

Me and Pirate leaving the church

The Wedding Party (from left to right): The Cake, Vi, Miss Mellville, Me, Pirate, and some dudes.

Dancing with my Daddy

Dancing with the Pirate

Sharing a giggle after all the photos have been taken
(Isn't Hamish an awesome photographer???)

Walking across to the hotel for the reception
(I love the way you can see the movement of my dress in this shot.)

There's drama, and then there's drama.

Eat yer heart out, Julie Andrews/Princess Di/any other Royal
(Poised, but not posed. This one is candid.)

A Pirate's Wedding, Part III: Walking the Plank

Walking to the church was almost the best part. I was with my dad and my amazing awesome wonderful friends, who were the best bridesmaids in the universe. (Seriously.) The sky was blue, it was a crisp, early autumn day, the kind that make September your favorite month of the year. Though I never would have admitted it before hand (I would have said that the weather didn't matter so long as, at the end of the day, i was married), it was exactly the kind of day I'd always wanted for my wedding, since I was a little girl.

We crossed the street, I with my dress tucked up around my knees, and headed for the church. We approached the church from the south door, through the garden. If you know St. Mary Redcliffe, you know what a pretty walk it is. Walking down that cobbled path towards the 14th c. gothic church I felt like an absolute queen. It was impossible not to let a few tears slip through. I knew that when I saw my Pirate waiting for me I would either get it under control or lose it completely, but I had no idea which and I was terrified. Not terrified of getting married, you understand, just of totally losing my composure in front of a hundred guests, friends, and family. And video camera.

(Oh, the video arrived today! Hurrah!)

We stopped in the porch of the south door to give everyone a chance to take their places. (Mom insisted on waiting for me at the church door and wouldn't sit down until I'd arrived, and then insisted on being shown to her seat by one of the groomsmen. Nothing like making things more complicated than they need to be, is there?)

The Cake attached my train, which she'd been carrying for me, the groomsman went to give the musicians their cue, and the round and vibrant notes of Holst's 'Jupiter' filled the church from the corner where the brass quintet was sitting next to the giant organ.*

And that's all I remember with much coherence. After that it all becomes a bit of a blur. We sang "Simple Gifts," the old Shaker hymn about love and happiness. Pirate's brother played the violin while we sang "This Is The Day." They sang "Eternal Father Strong To Save" while we signed the register, which is good because it meant I didn't have to sing about "those in peril on the sea," which is the last line of every verse of that song. Ugh. (Pirate really wanted it.)

We had two readings, the one from Corinthians that everyone uses, and one from the Song of Songs about the difference between love and jealousy, which had a neat line about "deep waters cannot quench love," which I thought was quite apt.

Oh, how could I forget the sermon??? Poor Rev. Wendy had no idea what she'd done. She launched into this metaphor of marriage as baking a cake, and needing all the right ingredients etc. Poor woman had absolutely NO CLUE that I'd made our wedding cake, or about the dozens of hours of practice and all the drama that went along with it. I got such a case of the giggles that Pirate at one point even took my hand and squeezed it in that "get control of yourself" gesture. My mom and bridesmaids were absolutely wetting themselves in the front pew. The verger, John, who runs a very tight ship, was utterly scandalized by our behavior until we explained to him afterwards what all the giggling had been about.

And I remember keeling before the altar, barely able to keep myself from sliding off the kneeler, which was too high and made very slippery by all the sating and chiffon between it and my knees. I took Pirate's hand and he held me up so I wouldn't slide off.

I remember spending a lot of time looking at Rev. Wendy's vestments, which were clearly all hand embroidered and centuries old. They depicted scenes from Christ's life, and were very medieval in style.

And I remember listening to Pirate say his vows. Unlike the rehearsal the night before, where we whispered them in practice and didn't look at each other, he looked me straight in the eyes and said in full voice

I, The Pirate, take thee, Chaucer's Bitch, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.

The exchange of rings was even better...

With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.

I love the line "With my body I thee worship." It's so beautiful and so potent. I like the fact that the C of E recognizes and exults the physical, as well as the emotional and intellectual, aspects of marriage.

I did have to restrain myself so that I didn't giggle when it was my turn to say "and with all my worldly goods I thee endow." I was thinking both of all the carloads of crap that the poor man spend so many hours hauling, driving, and unpacking for me. I was also thinking of my huge student debt. Friggin what worldly goods? I'm poorer than a churchmouse. (Except for the dozens of houseplants and suitcases full of rowing apparel.)

And then it was over. Suddenly they were playing the Ode To Joy and we were walking out. I looked up and there were all these smiling faces, all these friends and family that I love so much were beaming at us.

At the back of the church we ducked into a side chapel and hid so the bridesmaids could shoo the guests outside. That was our fist chance to be alone together as husband and wife. I turned to the Pirate to demand a proper kiss (the one during the service being heavily laced with Social Propriety), and saw that he was crying. It was the first and only time I have ever seen a tear roll down his cheek.



That's all for now, but there's more coming. I have lots to tell you about the reception and things, which was great fun. And there are photos coming, I promise!!! xoxoxo


*Hehehe. I said 'giant organ.' Geddit? Organ?? Oh, never mind.

A Pirate's Wedding, Part II: Full Speed Ahead

Gak! I wanted to get loads of beauty sleep the night before my wedding. I wanted to relax, read my new issue of New Scientist, maybe blog a bit, or spend some time in the spa that is in the hotel. Alas, to no avail. I didn't even have time to go for a swim in the pool in the bathroom that was masquerading as a tub. (The hotel really came up trumps with the room, and gave us this gargantuan suite with a superking bed and shower you could throw a party in. And it was cheap. They really treated us like royalty.*

No, instead I was up dealing with cake things until bloody midnight. Miss Melville SHOULD have stayed over with me, instead she wound up taking a cab back to her hotel and breaking inn. (Did you see what I did there?) Ask her nicely and she'll tell you all about it.

After printing off the readings for the service tomorrow (which I'd completely forgotten to do beforehand, sending me into a panic about what other totally obvious things I might have forgotten), I took a sleeping pill and went to bed, worrying about the cake in the fridge downstairs and whether the soupy frosting would set overnight to something useable. (It didn't.)

I woke up, took a shower, pinned my hair up, put on some jeans (thank got the wedding wasn't until 3 pm), and went downstairs for breakfast, where I was assaulted by my family, all my parents' friends, my future in-laws, and all their friends. It took me 30 minutes to extricate myself and I never did manage to eat anything. 9 am is WAY too early in the day for social niceities.

I got the marvelous people at the hotel to get the cake out for me and take it up to the Forrest Suite, where the reception would be held. The frosting was still soup. I called The Cake on my mobile. "Cake, we need more frosting. Can you run to Sainsbury's and buy 6 tubs of whatever they have that's white?"
The Cake: "No, because I'm so bloated I can't zip my dress up. I have to go into town to buy expensive suck-me-in underwear. I'll send The Pud."

The Pud, bless his heart, showed up with 6 tubs of Betty Crocker vanilla frosting. Perfect. (I still haven't paid him back for that. I really must remember to do that.)

Big Wally kept Smally Wally entertained while Vi, MM and I frosted and assembled the cake. Except for the 2nd tier, which was too big and rather misshapen, it looked great. That took a while. My brother and Sister-in-law set up the place cards and favors, and MM took my phone away from me and made herself my P.A. for the day, so I wouldn't have to answer the 4,000 phone calls that came in.

Eventually I had to go get my hair done. The cake was assembled, but I hadn't put the crystallized flowers on it yet. MM and I ran to the hairdressers, where Zoe did an absolutely AMAZING job. It looked so beautiful I lost the plot right there in the salon and broke down in tears for the first time that day. I'd never felt so pretty in my life. It cost a bleeding fortune, but it was worth every penny.

It was a stunningly gorgeous blue fall day. After the shit pissing wet summer we've had, with cold and rain and blowing every day, the sun broke through and it was utterly glorious. MM and I walked back from the hair dressers holding hands and singing "Going to the chapel" and "Get me to the church on time" with the sun on our faces. I'm sure the local onlookers though we were lesbians. I'm OK with that.

Then I ran back up to the Forrest Suite to put the candied pansies on the cake. By now it was after 2, the service was at 3, and I hadn't even started getting dressed yet!

My dad came up (looking very dapper I might add) and took the flowers away from me, saying he'd finish it for me (which was great because he's probably the only person in the world I would trust to do that) and ordered me to go get dressed.

When I got to my room it was a frenzy of half-naked bridesmaids throwing clothes around and attempting to apply makeup while stuffing me and themselves into a variety of cumbersome dresses.

I put on my makeup (very minimal, only took 5 minutes), and then someone had to help me into my underwear. My aunt and my mother showed up at this point, and so got an awesome view of my uber-sexing wedding-night smalls as The Cake (and this bit is absolutely HEROIC) spent 10 minutes on her knees behind be, my ass full in her face, as she attempted to connect the tops of my stockings to the little garter strap thingys. The woman is a saint. MM can attest to this.

I did not feel at all on display while this was going on and random family members came in to watch. No, not at all. Why is it that watching a bride get dressed is such a big damn deal? Why do people feel the need to be a part of the audience??? You wouldn't believe how long it took me to convince the videographer and photographer that I didn't want them in there. They refused to believe me. The photographer showed up anyway and I sent him away and told him to get pictures of the guests arriving at the church. Argh.

Eventually we were all ready. I have no idea what time it was, nor did I care. (It's not like they were going to start with out me.) Dad, who was standing patiently outside the door and only knocked every 23 seconds to see if I was ready yet, gave me his arm and we, accompanied by my bridesmaids, headed over to the church.

Stay tuned for Part III!



*I'm accustomed to staying in youth hostels and cheap roadside motels, so it was a rather novel experience for me to be able to pick up the phone by the bed (the room was so big it came with TWO phones!) and say to the French accent at reception "This is room 504. Could you please arrange a taxi for me and send someone up with a luggage trolley right away? Thanks." And it would happen. Just like that. Ask, and it shall be done. It was frightening how fast I got used to being waited on hand and foot. Maybe obscene wealth isn't such a bad thing after all?...

A Pirate's Wedding, Part I: A Bottle of Rum

There was a lot of drinking. There needed to be. After the stress of cleaning and moving out of my flat* the arrival of my bridesmaids was a more than welcome relief. Miss Melville came down from Aberdeen and Vi flew in from America with her husband, Wally, and their son, Smally Wally. The Paleo-embryologist (also known as the Welsh Cake, or 'Cake' for short) was the only one of the three who actually lived anywhere near me, and had been keeping me sane all summer by taking me to The Ram and pouring rose' down my gullet whenever I got stressed out.

So Thursday, the day before the wedding, exactly 3 things needed to be accomplished. They were
1. Print out the service books for the wedding and tie them with ribbons
2. Bake, frost, and decoarate the wedding cake
3. Attend the rehearsal

That's still a pretty full agenda.

The service booklets would have been done the day before if I hadn't fucked them up and if my printer hadn't wasted all the good paper I'd bought by printing off the fucked up copies even after I pressed the "cancel" button and dozen times and finally turned the thing off. So first thing Thursday it was hop it off to the stationery shop to buy more paper, phone dad and get him to come over to my hotel room where I'd set up my computer and laser printer and get him to supervise the rest of the printing, and then get Aunt Sr. Pain-in-the-Ass to fold, punch, and ribbon-tie all 90 copies.

That was accomplished by 10:30 am.

Then it was grab all the cake supplies and get a cab up to the University of Bristol Chaplaincy, where they have a full-size professional kitchen with TWO ovens, which i'd booked out for the purpose of baking my cake. (IRONIC: the reason I was able to use the chaplaincy is because I'm a member of the UofB Atheist society, which is part of the multi-faith forum, which has access to the chaplaincy office. Thus I, a godless heathen, was able to use my atheist connections to bake a cake in a chaplain's office for my giant, pompus church wedding. Brilliant.)

The bridesmaids were all supposed to meet me there at noon, and yet somehow, not one of them managed to make it there without assistance. I would take me too long to go to into the convoluted scenario when they all kept phoning me saying "I'm at the corner of pillarbox and lampost. Where are you and how do i find you?" but it took a while and became far more complicated than it ever should have been. You goofballs.

Finally cake-baking and wine-drinking commenced. The first thing that needed to happen was grating the 20 pounds of carrots for the carrot cake tiers. That took a while. The whole process was reasonably well organized though, and once we got the first cake in the oven it all went fairly well. At The Cake (the human one, not the eating one) and Miss Melville went to get my dress from The Cake's flat and take it to the hotel where i was staying, and I went with Vi and the Wallys to the church for the rehearsal.

The rehearsal was extremely rushed. We only had a 25 minute window, and the minister really rushed through everything. Which was kind of good because it kept my mother from interfereing and interrupting every 10 seconds with questions about irrelevancies, but it also didn't give time for the readers to practice their readings, which I thought was rather important. Pirate and I did get to practice our vows, using the names of Marge and Homer and not looking at each other. I managed to get through all the God bits without rolling my eyes, which was an accomplishment.

After that it was a fast dinner at the nearest restaurant** and then back up to keep working on the cake. This is where it all started to go tits up.

For one thing, the chaplaincy had double-booked the kitchen, and when I got back there were 3 muslim blokes there cooking a feast for Ramadan for about 50 people. I wasnt' able to get in the door. They said they would be gone in 10 minutes. An hour later they were still there so I just started working around them as best I could.

They finally left but the place was a mess. I was able to work around the mess, but when they came back to clean up it really go hairy. I needed the sink to keep washing mixing bowls and utensils as i changed back and forth between carrot and lemon cake and frosting, but they were using the sink. That killed another 45 minutes of valuable time.

Then at one point one of them TURNED OFF THE OVENS!. Thank GOD the Cake noticed and we turned them straight back on so there was no damage done. If she hadn't seen that happen 2 tiers of my cake would have been ruined.

And then finally one of the batches of frosting didn't turn out. For some reason it was complete soup. It wasn't usable. So we weren't able to get the whole cake frosted that night.

The Cake's b.f. (The Pud) turned up about 11 pm from York where he's doing his PhD in entymology. We called a cab to take the cake (small c) to my hotel where they agreed to refridgerate it for me overnight. The 4 of us -- The Cake, The Pud, Miss Melville and myself -- piled into a cab, and between us we were able to hold on to all 4 tiers of cake and the bowl of soupy frosting. It was nearly midnight when we got to the hotel, and the cake was still only half frosted!

Stay tuned for part II: The Big Day



*I vacated my flat on the Wednesday before the wedding and moved in to the hotel. On Thursday morning I woke up and discovered I'd left ALL my socks and underwear behind.
**The Rehearsal Dinner isn't a custom over here in the UK, which is good because I was able to eat and run

Crisis du Moment

So this morning's crisis was the chocolate fountain people* emailing me to inform me that despite our agreement, they would not be able to have the table and fountain set up in the reception hall before 5 pm. Instead, the earliest they could do it is 7 pm, and I would just have to deal with the fact that they would be hauling in crates and boxes and tables while the guests are seated at dinner. Um, noooooooooo.

So there I was, 10 days before my wedding, trying to hire a replacement chocolate fountain (Pirate really really really really wants one). I spent 3 hours on the internet and phone getting quotes from the few places that had availability. The best I could get was 75 pounds more than what we had originally paid. I said I would check with the Pirate and get back to him in the evening.

Then I called my contact at the reception hall just to let her know what was going on. "No problem," she said. "I'll take care of it." She asked for the details of my arrangement with the original chocolate people, which I gave her. 10 minutes later she rang me back to say she'd found a reputable place that would do everything we wanted and more for the same price. She's worked with them before and she trusts them. Brilliant!

So I phoned back the chap who gave me the quote that was 75 pounds above our budget to tell him we didn't need him after all. Here's the kicker: "I've just been on the phone to your friend at the hotel" quoth he. "She's booked me for your wedding." She got the same place I wanted, but she did it 75 quid cheaper! Brilliant!

Crisis averted. And since we're naming and shaming people, let's also give some good press to the wonderful people at the Mercure Holland House Hotel, who are being absolute stars. Thanks, guys!

*Clearly no one should ever hire these people. I believe in naming and shaming. (Now I just need to get my fucking 400 quid back.)

SCREWED

Pirate and I registered our wedding list through this company.

Now they are bankrupt. People have already bought gifts. They, and we, are screwed. This is the last thing I need right now.

Wank shit bugger balls damn shit fuck arse shit bugger goddamnit.

Good Day, Sunshine!

What an amazing day it's been! I was going to write about the bloody awful day I had on Sunday at Pirate's cricket game, where the people at the Arundel Castle cricket ground were so unbelievably rude to me that by lunch time I was sitting by myself in the car, in tears, and wouldn't come sit at the table. Never in my life have I been treated so badly by complete strangers. So now I would like to proclaim loudly to all who hear that the Duke of Norfolk's 11 are the biggest, snottiest, nastiest, most condescending collection of stuck-up, aristocratic pricks I have ever met, and they can all go rot. To be fair it wasn't the players who were awful, it was all their hangers-on and the staff in the clubhouse. Cunts, the lot of them.

Some of what was said to me was so horrible it was funny, but to convey the true spirit I would have to type in an accent, which I suck at, so instead I'm going to tell you why today was so wonderful instead.

It started off with another mess of wedding reply cards, which are always fun. I haven't enjoyed going to the box to get my mail this much since I was 10 years old and expecting birthday cards with cheques in them.

Today I received a very, very formal acceptance from Pirate's great aunt Peer, who is the family aristocrat. I could barely make out her handwriting as it creaked off the personalized stationery, but lo and behold she's coming. No-one expected her to. Isn't that lovely? Yay for aged and decrepit relatives who do the unexpected!

We also got our first wedding gift today! Yay! It's the solid, Michigan maple, 3" thick, end-grain chopping board I asked for. It's 4 square feet. Proper chopping board. Very generous. (Now who will get me the knives to go with it, I wonder?)

Then I got an email from an old friend from High School that I haven't heard from in, like, geological time. He saw the announcement in the news letter and sent an email to the last known account he had for me, which still feeds in to my current account. We spent the day emailing back and forth, it turns out he's moving to Germany shortly, and would like to come and visit me over the summer, so I asked him to come to the wedding, and he said 'yes'! Whoopie! I haven't seen him in over 10 years. Amazing.

And last but not least (and this is the real cherry on the cake), the Hairy Man* I.M.'d me. We haven't communicated in almost 2 years. He took the breakup pretty hard, and I've never stopped worrying about him and wondering what he's up to. It's been a bit of a loose thread that I was never able to tie off. I tried to get in touch a couple times, but he ignored me, and so I left him in peace. And then tonight he Skyped me, right out of the blue. He's living with his new girlfriend, which makes me very happy. I wish them both well, and I hope it works out for him.

Oh, and a gift I ordered for the Pirate from Amazon arrived, so I'll be able to give that to him when he comes over on Friday.

Yay! Happiness abounds! (As does stress, but we don't think about that.)


*If you're new around here and you want to read more about the Hairy Man, click the 'hairy man' category on the sidebar. It's all there.

Set theory: shoes

There are shoes I like. There are white shoes. Somewhere, there must be an intersection of these two groups. There must. It simply has to be.

Right?



These are "orchid," by a company called Platino. If anyone can find them in white,* please tell me.


*or off-white, cream, ivory, bone, eggshell, or magnolia. I'm not picky.


UPDATE: i just spoke with the store. these shoes are made especially for Wynsors by Platino. They are not available anywhere else, and they are not made in white. Aaarrgh! It's not fair!

UPDATED UPDATE: I just bought these. Mom will hate them. I don't care. job done.

No, I'm not married yet

(You may resume breathing now, Nations.)

We had a great time in South Africa. I will tell you all about it tomorrow, but right now I am tired, and kind of tired of talking about it because I just spent 3 hours on the phone with my mom telling her all about it.

I'm feeling much better having had a mental break from all the wedding stuff. It's about to hit me in the head again full force, but at least I'm rested and I've had a chance to gird my loins. or something.

Here is something to make you happy, though: we bought my wedding ring! and here it is:



White gold, filigree all around, and 21 tiny, tiny diamonds to make it sparkle. Gold and diamonds both being cheap in SA, and the awesome buying power of the English pound on our side, we got a great deal on it. And it's perfect, and exactly what i wanted.

We still haven't picked out Pirate's ring yet. That's going to be a whole 'nother project. Silly sot has no idea what he wants, just that it has to be unusual.

Also, here is the meme that Da Nator hit me with:

1. Grab the nearest book of 123 pages or more.
2. Open it to page 123.
3. Find the first 5 sentences and write them down.
4. Then invite 5 friends to do the same.

So here are mine:

"Indeed, she also accepts lines with even less regular alliteration, such as 305, which she considers to be metrically satisfactory because of its alliterative linkage with both the previous and the following lines (304 alliterates on /b/ and the final stave of 305 (besekes) echoes this; 306 alliterates on /a/ and the second stave of 305 (Arthure) anticipates this):

Thane the burelyche beryn of Bretayne the lyttyll
Counsayles Sir Arthure and of hym besekys
To ansuere the alyenes wyth austeren wordes (304-306)

Or take, for example, the couplet found at 4151-2:

He es eldare than I and ende sall we bothen
He sall ferkke be-fore and I sall come aftyre

Hamel's note to this couplet reads: 'The alliterative pattern of these two lines is aa:ax/bb:xa; no emendation is necessary.' "


Look, I'm at my computer. Where I work. The nearest book was one I'm currently using in my research, which at the moment is a metrical study of Chaucer's "Book of the Duchess." The above exerpt is from "Studies in the Metre of Alliterative Verse" by Ad Putter (my supervisor), Judith Jefferson, and Myra Stokes, c. 2007.

Tagging: Miss Melville, Annie Rhiannon, Big Dave, Michael, and Murph.

Leavin' on a jet plane

Pirate and I are off to Sith Efrica! Pirate, being the international cricket star that he is, is going on a 2 1/2 week tour of South Africa to play cricket, and I'm going with him! I was up until 3 a.m. this morning packing so that I'd be ready to go right after work today. (All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go...)

The latest wedding disaster is that all the Save the Date cards that I put in a bundle and mailed to mom vial Royal Mail Air Sure (supposedly trackable all the way to it's final destination), have gone completely missing. Gone. All of them.

So now ALL the STD cards that were meant to go to the American guests (and the numerous other friends and family mom has decided need to be invited, despite the fact that I have never met some of them) have to be redone. But of course I'm leaving. So all the spare stationery has been put in the post to mom and all the files have been emailed to her in a million different formats so she's got no excuse. She'll have to deal with.

And she's fucking thrilled! Because now she gets to do something without any input from me AND she gets to be the hero who saved the day, thereby justifying all her meddling. Now all I'm going to hear for the next 7 months (hell, probably the next 70 years) is, "What on earth would you have done without me! You never could have carried this off if I hadn't been there for you! Aren't you glad now that I was so willing to help you??" So much for telling her to back off. Fart.

But I don't care. (Not at the moment, anyway. I'm sure when I get back in March I'll care very much.) But tomorrow is another day and all that jazz. For now, I'm going to think about arriving someplace warm and sunny with the Pirate at my side. (When I come back, I'll wear your wedding ring...) There will be crickets, wickets, penguins, sandy beaches, birdwatching, hiking, and sweet sweet lurve. Oh God get me out of here.

I don't know how much internet access I'll have while I'm gone, and even if I do, frankly, I won't be using it. I need to unplug for a while.

So come back in March and I'll show you all some lovely photos and tell you about the penguins.

Oh that DOES it

I have had it up to *here*

You know I've been going out of my mind with the wedding plans, right? And I've only been telling you a tiny bit. In addition:

I've been on the phone with my mom more than 2 hours a day for the past 3 weeks.

Last night, after I was in bed (I hate being awakend when I have to be up at 6 am for training), I got a phone call from my father telling me that my mom was upset because I had pushed her out of the wedding plans and she wanted to be more involved!

I pushed her out???? SHE'S FUCKING TAKING OVER! SHE'S MORE INVOLVED THAN THE PIRATE!!!!! I've been reduced to meer middleman, conveying her wishes and commands to the various parties.

Not only that, but there are numerous issues over which she and the Pirate disagreed, and with few (1) exceptions, she has entirely gotten her way. This weekend I got really weepy with the Pirate because I felt that I was being torn apart, and there was absolutely no way I could keep both him and my mother happy, and that if it came down to it, he's more important and his wishes take priority, but I don't (didn't) want to have to be that blunt with my mother.

And then she has the balls to get upset with me. I went livid.

I spent 30 minutes on the phone with dad explaining all of this. He was incredibly sympathetic, and at the end of my tirade said, "You've got me convinced. She's the one out of control." He was about to attempt to deal with her diplomatically and explain my feelings (she's running me ragged micromanaging everything), when she heard him on the phone and exclaimed "Oh, so now I'm the enemy!"

Great. just fucking great.

So what did I do? I rolled over and played dead like I have since I was a kid. I learned very young that you don't win arguements with my mom. No one does. They are pointless. In 29 years she's never once said "I was wrong" about anything. Ever. So I sat there listening to her tell me how much I had hurt her by leaving her out of the wedding (I still have genuinely no idea how she can possibly feel this way) and I wound up aplogizing to her.

God I'm spineless.

I told her how I feel. But did she aplogize? Did she fuck. She doesn't apologize because she is never wrong. It's that simple.

So I aplogized to her. She feels better. I'm still seething. I can't convey how angry I am. And I strenuoulsy resent the fact that she has made planning my wedding into a minor war, fought with emotional manipulation and guilt. Finally at 1:30 in the morning I hung up the phone, took a double dose of sleeping pills, and cried myself to sleep.

On Thrusday (Valentine's Day), Pirate and I are leaving to spend 2 1/2 weeks in Capetown, South Africa. Hopefully in that interval I will be able to calm down and come back feeling refreshed and actually enjoy the wedding planning again. But I'm not hopefull. Pirate and I will be seriously discussing the possibility of eloping.

I can't take this any more, and there's still more than 7 months to go.

Why I'm going insane

Last night I received a 4 page document from my parents. It was a giant list of questions about the wedding. 4 pages. single spaced. Here is a sample of the questions contained therein:

• Where will [bridesmaid from Scotland] stay? When will she arrive?
• When and how will you collect your dress from the dressmaker? [the dressmaker is half a block from where I live.]
• When will the rehearsal be held? How long will it last? Where will we go to eat afterwards? How will we get there?
• What is [Best Man’s] availability? Who will ensure that he gets to where he needs to be, when he needs to be there and dressed as he needs to be? [He's an adult for Christ's sake! Do you want me to wipe his ass for him, too?!]
• What symbol will you put on the place cards to indicate to the serving staff what meal people have ordered? [I'm not kidding. The wedding is more than 7 months away and they are already worried about the fucking place cards.]
• Who will be your Trail BOSS, someone who will ride herd on and coordinate all the activities for the day? Let wedding party and guests know when and where to be, insuring guests get in from the airport in good order. Insures everything goes as planned. THIS is a tough role. [Sister in law] did it using an excel spreadsheet and minute to minute planning to help but still had glitches.
• Where will you dress for the wedding? At the hotel? At the church? How many hours ahead of time should dressing begin? If dressing at the hotel, how will you get to the church? Walking will be very risky. [it's across the street.] In whose car? Will a cab work for such a short fare
• Pirate won’t arrive until the day of the wedding. Where will he go? He shouldn’t see you in your dress before the ceremony. Could he dress and groom in his parents' room at the hotel? How and when does he go to the church? Who sees to it? [are you fucking kidding me? He gets himself to the church. By walking! He's not a fucking child!!!]

And it goes on. and on. Can you see why I'm going nuts?!?!? These people are out of their minds. They are micromanaging me into insanity.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cultural differences

The cultural differences between the US and the UK never cease to surprise me. I really didn't think there would be significant differences between wedding customs. (To be fair, this is a result of my own cultural egotism, whereby I just assume everyone does things the same way I do, because obviously that is the best way to do them. I mean, duh!)

The things I have heard about weddings here in the UK, for the most part, shock and horrify me. Luckily for me, they also shock and horrify the Pirate. He loathes, as I do, the whole commercial industry that has sprung up around weddings, so we're both keen to keep things as simple as possible.

We did want to have a nice reception in a pub somewhere, where people could gather, share a tasty meal, tell us how great we look, and call it a night. But we have a rather large guest list (over a hundred and growing) and we couldn't find a pub that could accommodate more than 80. Deciding that the people were more important than that decor, we've opted to keep the huge guest list and have the reception in the banquet room of a big, corporate hotel. What it lacks in ambiance it makes up for in convenience.

So here's how it's going to be:

Ceremony at 3 pm on a Friday afternoon in September. We will have a choir, and organ, and brass quartet, and the volume and joy of the music will blow the roof right off the medieval church.

Upon leaving the church we will depart through an archway of swords (Pirate's friends all carry swords, naturally) and oars. It might be a little goofy, but it's us. And hey, they're all blades, right?

The guests will wander across the street to the hotel where they will have drinks and canapes in the bar while my husband and I (!!!) have loads of pictures taken with family and blade-bearers.

About 5 pm or thereabouts we will wander in to the banquet room. Dinner will be served in three courses. (NO buffit.) The cake will be the desert, because that's what the fucking thing is FOR. It will taste good, because I will bake it.any of the English guests are annoyed at not getting a second dessert, that's their fucking problem. It will be decorated with fresh, edible flowers.

Somewhere in there there will be some toasts raised. Pirate's father will drone on at length. Mine will be bashful, tear up, and sit down as quickly as possible.

There will be a dance floor. There will be a DJ (one of Pirate's friends). He will play the music that we specify, and if the Macarena or Chicken Dance come on at any point in the evening, I will break both his legs. (And don't think for a minute that I can't or won't.) People will dance or sit and talk as they deem most fun. The DJ will close up shop at midnight, and that will be the end of it. Period.

There will be wine on the tables at dinner, and we will provide something bubbly for toasts (and non-alchy for the fair number of tea-totalers in the crowd, probably Appletizer). But the bar afterward will be a cash bar. Booze is just too expensive, and my parents are already effectively paying for this twice what with the exchange rate and all, AND they're throwing a second reception back in the states for the Yanks who can't come over, so.... no free bar after dinner, and that's just how it's going to have to be.

It will be fun, it will be simple, it will not get out of hand, and it will keep the focus where it belongs -- on the wedding.

Bloggers are welcome to come to the ceremony (I'll give more details later), but for obvious reasons I can't invite y'all along to the reception as well.

We Have Lift-off!

Finally some decisions have been made. Yay! I had an amazingly productive day. I...

• confirmed the date, booked the church, and sent the deposit
• confirmed the date and booked the hotel for the reception
• further refined the menu with the chef
• canceled the other venues that were doing things for me
• spoke with the reverend at the parish where i am resident about having the banns read (we're getting married in a parish where neither of us is resident, which makes things tricky)
• got a final guest list from the in-laws
• got addresses to send out Save the Date cards
• purchased the Save the Date cards
• and the address labels to go with them
• and post cards with pretty photos of Bristol to put inside them
• and ribbon to wrap the gift of the reception we're going to on Saturday
• went to a lecture
• talked on the phone with my mom for an hour
• met with one of my bridesmaids about dress fittings
• picked up the first bits of my dress from the dressmaker, which will be sent home to mom who will do the embroidery
• sorted out all the flower arrangements for the church
• contacted the organist about music
  
• went to a boat club meeting
• ate a lemon drizzle cake
• and a pan of stir-fried veggies with coconut, ginger, and basil sauce

whew. i feel better. (about everything except my degree.*)

don't worry, this will be the last post about wedding shenannigans for a while. maybe.



*yes I know it's ultimately more important, but there are other things that need to be done more immediately. christ, you sound like my mother.

Does this look normal to you?

I have discovered, in my on-going wedding planning frenzy, that it appears to be normal over here to get married at about 10 am, have giant, 3-course wedding breakfast at lunch time (so why they call it 'breakfast' i surely do not know), and then have a full-on buffet dinner in the evening with dancing, etc., thus making the wedding an all-day affair that lasts from 9:30 a.m. (realistically, when people start showing up) to midnight or later. That's a 14+ hour party, people. Fucking 14 hours!!!

This seems to be the norm because whenever I ask for prices for food the venues all hand me a figure in the range of 45-70 pounds per person, and they automatically include the 3-course wedding breakfast and the "disco buffet" for the evening. Who does this??? I have never in my life heard of such a thing.

In the states if you have a morning wedding you have an afternoon reception and everyone goes home at 6 pm. This is much more sensible. They don't hang around until midnight getting drunk and expecting to be fed again like some kind of spoiled zoo animal.

I have been having a very hard time getting any place to quote me a per-head price for

• a starter
• a main course

period. no buffet. no dessert. why would anyone have dessert at their wedding? That's what the bleeding CAKE is for!

argh. you people are weird.

oh, and is it normal to not offer your guests a choice of main course for the dinner? every formal party i've been to in the UK (and i've been to a few, what with office xmas dos and all Pirate's formal stuff), and every time the invitation has included a dinner card to send back with my menu selections. But they tell me that at weddings everyone is normally served the same thing! Really? Or am I being scammed?

Protocol

Here's a question for you:

When you have single friends on your wedding guest list, do you invite them to bring along a guest?

In America you absolutely would, and to invite an unmarried person and not give them the option to bring a date would be considered extremely rude, though it does happen.

Here, though, Pirate tells me that that is not normal, and single people usually do not bring dates to weddings. Case in point: when his cousin got married late last summer I was not invited, not did Pirate's invitation read "To Pirate and Guest," even though I'd met the family and everything.

Obviously not letting singles bring dates really helps keep the guest list down, but it seems rude to me. What do you guys think? What's the normal etiquette and protocol over here?

Wedding Streeeeessssssssssssss!!!

People simply won't give me the information I need!

I haven't been able to finalize the date because
I can't book a reception hall because
They won't give me the price quotes I asked for AND
I don't know how many people are coming because
Neither my fiance' NOR his family will type up a fucking GUEST LIST!!!

So I've done nothing but make wedding plans for over a month and still not a SINGLE THING IS PLANNED BECAUSE PEOPLE WON'T ANSWER MY QUESTIONS OR GIVE ME ANY FUCKING INFORMATION!!!!


I want to elope.

Coast Guard Rescue

Shit, where do I begin???

Sorry for the loooooooong hiatus. I didn't have much time for blogging while oop north at the (future) in-laws, and then I got back and was busy and then,

well, you know how sometimes the more daunting a task is the longer you put it off, but it only gets more and more daunting? it's kind of like that. i wanted to tell you every wonderful little marvelous details of everything that happened, and I couldn't face the enormity of it, and so I wrote nothing at all. Not too clever, I know.

So here's the synopsis:

(and thanks for bugging me. knowing that people were checking in on me and wondering what the fuck was going on was the motivation i needed, so thanks very much to everyone who left me nagging comments about falling overboard!)

Had a fabulous time over Christmas with Pirate and his folks. Ate till it was impossible to distinguish me from the Great White Whale, and then washed it all down with another mince pie. And champers. Fucking 'ell, I drank more Champaigne in the week from Christmas to New Years than I have in my entire night cumulative. Actually, I think I drank more Champagne the first night we arrived than I had in my entire life cumulative, and just kept building up the record from there. There were dinner parties and toasts and more toasts and a few more toasts and a few more parties. Pirate and I got loads of engagement pressies, which was lovely. Pirate's parents bought us a bunch of really nice (400 thread count) King size bed linens! Ooh, those are going to be so nice to sleep in! There was also lots of Boggle, Scrabble, and reading taking place, as well as walks in the drippy countryside and strolling through villages. A lovely way to pass the holidays.

On the wedding front, things are finally getting hammered down. I can now confirm that we will be getting Married in Bristol at St. Mary Redcliffe Church on (probably) Sept. 5, 2008. (Warning: that link plays music.) We have the venue for the reception narrowed down to 3 possibilities, and will hopefully have a decision on that by the end of the week. The problem is that Pirate has just been sent to Germany for the week, so I'm rather left hanging at the moment.

boy, writing that it doesn't seem like much happened, but honestly, i've been up to my ass in aligators. well, back to it i suppose.

Ooh, I almost forgot to mention (but a certain commenter remembered), my birthday was this weekend. I am 29 for the first time. It was a good day. We met with the vicar and made arrangements for the wedding, so that was fun.

What the wedding WON'T be:

• ostentatious
• snotty
• generic
• like something out of a magazine
• the product of one of those big "how to plan the perfect wedding" books

and most of all...

• the cake will NOT smell of explosives.

So we know what it won't be, but we're still not sure what it will be. Oh, well; we'll figure it out eventually. Process of elimination and all that.

Halp!

Dear Adoring Public,

Can anyone answer this question:

Why would someone say they want to get married, and then not want to tell anyone they are engaged?

Besides Romeo & Juliet-style familial disapproval (which doesn't apply here), can anyone think of a reason to keep an engagement a secret other than having serious second thoughts???

Signed,
Befuddled in Brizzle

UPDATE: After I got a little weepy with him about it, he finally bit the bullet and told his folks. (They were ecstatic.) I feel somewhat relieved.