Pennies, flowers and panic

All has been quiet on the wedding front for a few weeks - operation house has somewhat taken over. But now the boxes have been unpacked, and bar the need for wardrobes we are settled in. The cats have stopped marking their territory - and the new Laura Ashley curtains! And we have just about learnt where exactly the tea pot lives.

So here we are again pondering the wedding. In a nod to the old "credit crunch", the save the date cards are suitably thrifty and will join the new home cards in the envelope with the Christmas cards - who knew I could be so frugal?

I have decided to stop the wedding magazine habit - the panic that ensues after reading one really isn't worth the £5 price tag. (Although the desire to titter at how hideous other people's bridesmaids dresses are does make a good case in their defence).

I'd like to thank Miss Pickering for her very wise words concerning my flowers and lack of preparation - I shall no longer lie awake at night pondering my floral options and panicking about having not made one decision. Instead will very much look forward to lunch and wine at the Tobie to discuss bouquets and button holes.

However I am slightly concerned at the mention of "swatches of fabric, mood boards and a long essay on your inspiration and feeling for the day" - hmm - best get to work.

About time....

I've waited seven and a half years to become Mrs Jones (I could be more precise but that might suggest desperation), so to say that I was rather overjoyed when presented with a sparkly diamond on 25th April 2007 would be an understatement.

The news was met with approval by most - though none were so demonstative in their excitement as Miss Penelope (our smallest cat) who licked the rock in appreciation. Big Jez (biggest cat) took off in disgust and didn't come home for days. Poor sensitive soul - he doesn't like his equilibrium to be tampered with.

With the cats suitably soothed the planning began - much to the shock of Mr Jones, who seemed to think he could propose and then sit down and recover for a few months. Ha - after making me wait seven and a half years - not likely, there's not a moment to waste.