Going to the chapel...

I might have given the wrong impression in a recent post if I suggested that I never go to weddings any more. I’ve been to two this year. And one of them was my own. I’ve been a bit embarrassed telling anyone about it, after ten years with Partner (who, I suppose, I must now call Husband). It got out eventually and people sent flowers and said nice things and it was all rather gratifying in the end. But it made me think about how you approach things at 21 and how you approach them thirty years later. The main difference was not letting my mother get involved. Don’t get me wrong: my friends talked for weeks about the buffet at my first wedding. But there were things that weren’t as good, like having to say ‘who are you?’ when people came up to congratulate me. While planning our event, I was amused to read an article about a young woman agonising about how to do a ‘feminist’ wedding. If you know what you want, it’s easy to ditch everything else. Every time people asked ‘what hymns are you having?’ or whether I’d booked a photographer, I laughed. Hymns and Bible readings? No. Church? Yes - because it meant something. Bridesmaids? No. Confetti? Yes - because I like some traditions. Suits? No. Wedding dress? No, but a new party frock - just because. (Husband decided on the day what to wear. And the tie was from a charity shop.) The guest list was small, as was the bill; we spent the rest of our money on a holiday. Just one thing was the same: my mother made the cake.