The Wedding Diaries. Sam Binnie
runners, ceremony, etc.
Collect images of nice flowers
Research flowers in season in August
Wedding night – is there a bridal suite at the venues? Or a boutique hotel nearby?
Confetti – rice paper, petals, rice?
Wedding workout schedule? Work out how to pay for wedding hahaha
Also: plan workout for arms and abs (wedding dress danger zones apparently)
November 17th
Could this all be coming together? Is it as simple as that? Thom’s being completely reasonable over the costs. Am I dreaming? Should it be so easy?
Thom’s got a job that can pay for all of this, having joined his firm almost straight out of university, and he always seemed to enjoy climbing the greasy pole to senior accounting executive. Neither of us love the hours, or the colleagues, or the schmoozing, or really even the work ethic of parts of his firm, but since Thom gave up hope of getting something for which he could use his English degree, he’s found a surprising clarity in numbers and a joy in managing them, corralling them into columns with sense and a purpose, turning symbols into someone’s future (and not their bankruptcy). He likes helping people, and although this slippery career ladder has meant more money and tougher work, it’s also meant the clients he’s dealing with have leapt from emerging businesses with everything to learn and everything to lose, to multinationals who have the cunning of a business-school fox and the morality to match. It’s still challenging work but in all the wrong ways, Thom says, and there are some days where all Thom wants to do is talk about where we’ll live when he retires, which going by his ex-colleagues will be in his mid-forties. We won’t be worrying about which child gets to go to university and which has to take an apprenticeship at the local blacksmith. We’re lucky – we have a car in London, a nice but tiny flat for just the two of us (rented), and we have a summer holiday and weekends away a few times a year. But we don’t have an Aston Martin, and we don’t go to those underwater hotels in Dubai, which is the absurd lifestyle I can see some people expect when they learn where Thom works and what he does. Instead Thom is always saving for something, insisting on Our Security in a manner that suggests he knows something incredibly grim about the future that I don’t, but I know that the security he’s building doesn’t make up for how little he enjoys work now. It breaks my heart to see him, sometimes.
But he arrived home on fine form this evening, happy that he’d managed to sneak advising a small start-up businesswoman into his busy schedule, so I thought it was my chance to begin my delicate cracking of the tough wedding nut.
Me: Thom, there’s something else I wanted to talk about, if you don’t mind talking about the wedding right now. When I told Jim about our engagement, he said he’d talk to some of his contacts at the big houses round here, and two have offered discounts. They’re really lovely and while their initial costs don’t include food they are really beautiful, and the corkage fee at Redhood Farm is waaaaaay smaller than the other places I’ve looked at, and they bring champagne for the bridal party on the morning of the ceremony and can do it all within their buildings, and will organise the food from an external chef when you tell them what kind of food-mood you want …
Thom: Food … mood?
Me: Yes, food-mood, it’s huge right now – and the photos at Wingfield Manor from previous weddings that I’ve seen on the websites are really amazing, and I think your mum and dad would love the gardens, and even you would approve of this place, really Thom, it’s so nice. And although neither of them is exactly in London the trains are frequent and quick and there are loads of nice affordable places for people to stay nearby.
Thom: Kiki, it’s fine. Let’s do it. That’s how these things work, isn’t it?
Me: [rare silence]
Thom: And no, that’s not a joke. Let’s get this thing locked down.
So that’s that. We’re going next weekend to have a look at them both, and then we’ll write the lucky venue a big fat cheque and I can stop fishing hairs out of the plughole (because my stress levels will decline and my hair will stop falling out, not because my hygiene standards will collapse).
November 23rd
Eve took me out tonight to a late night opening at the V&A, to make up for being away during the venue-hunt. In fact, I’ve not seen her since Susie’s barbecue, although we’ve spoken a few times. I feel like she’s somehow angry at me, but I don’t know why, and I don’t know why her nameless displeasure makes me feel guilty. I’m always scrabbling to make amends for something I haven’t done.
Eve: How’s the search been going?
Me: I think we’ve found our winner. Thom’s coming this weekend to give the two finalists the once-over, then the deposit’s paid and we’re in.
Eve: That seems painless.
Me: Ugh. The number of places I’ve seen where I’ve been addressed simply as ‘Bride’. ‘Which one of you is Bride?’ It’s not painless. It’ll scar me for years.
Eve: That sounds dreadful. Shall I tell you about some of the cases of homeless women and children I’ve been trying to get funding for this week? You could show them what a tough time really is.
Me: Ah, but if you’d been with me and not on one of your do-gooding missions away, I wouldn’t be making these horrific claims on your sympathy.
Eve: OK. You’re right, Kiki. You’ve taught me a valuable lesson I’ll never forget.
Me: You’re welcome.
We found our way to the ceramics rooms, and Eve linked arms with me.
Eve: Can we still do this even when you’re married?
Me: I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Thom.
Eve: You joke, Kiki. I’ve seen it happen.
Me: You’ve seen a lot of things happen. I try not to think about all the things you’ve seen happen. Please let’s not make predictions about my life based on the things you’ve witnessed in your job.
Eve: [makes wise face at me] You never know, Kiki, you never know.
I know you can’t ever know, she’s right, but when you’re planning your wedding it feels nicer to at least pretend that your fiancé couldn’t potentially be a control freak lunatic. I have no way of knowing the future, but it’s classic Eve to make that the note on which she ends a discussion on my nuptials.
We spent the rest of our visit in the shop, wishing we could fill our homes with the prints, books and jewellery. While I chose a card for Dad’s birthday tomorrow, Eve (of course) singled out the most beautiful object from the whole shop: a simple plate with a fish design, which I instantly lusted after once she’d picked it up. That dame has great taste.
November 27th
There has got to be a catch to all of this. First unlikely event: Thom didn’t have to work this weekend. We visited both venues today, and Thom absolutely loved Redhood Farm. We got up at the crack of dawn to manage them both properly in one day, and arrived at Wingfield Manor as the light was fading in and the mist rolled over the land. It was really lovely, light and pretty inside but something about the décor made me feel like I should be marrying in an off-the-shoulder meringue while my sister weeps blue eyeshadow down her cheeks. Put it this way: I would have gone crazy for it when I was seven. But after a few more hours in the car (it turns out it is way too easy to get lost in Suffolk) Redhood Farm was – like the dress – what I’d always been looking for without realising that I’d been looking for anything at all. It was charming and scrappy, full of colour and life and thoughtfulness, but professional and lacking in any of those dangerous witty little signs some wedding venues offer that make me want to abolish marriage altogether (‘Make Way for the Mr & Mrs!’). It was aesthetically and emotionally everything I wanted for the day; laid-back, casual,