I’m sitting on the couch whilst S is at the cinema watching a mountain biking film, and taking advantage of a quiet house to import CDs to iTunes, make some invitation-related purchases and watch Don’t Tell the Bride on BBC 3. This is a reality show where the groom gets complete control over the wedding and the bride is in the dark about it all, and oh my god does it make for some interesting TV when you see the incompetence of some of the men. The groom this week, however, is pretty clued up, and has made some great choices. The bride just had that misty-eyed, wow moment after seeing herself in the dress for the first time that I remember well from my own epic dress shopping. Kudos to the groom as well for having it altered from a size 14 so it fitted the bride’s petite size 6 frame!
It’s my last weekend of being 27, and it’s been one of those lovely, moochy weekends where the sun has shone, wine has been drunk, and delicious food has been cooked and eaten. I spent most of Friday on a coach to Birmingham and back to meet up with a client, so the offer of dinner on Friday night at our friends’ was much appreciated. S’ best mate recently surprised us all by eloping with his Canadian girlfriend and getting married on a romantic mountaintop ceremony in Whistler. His wife is now resident here in the UK, meaning that I have a new coffee drinking, wine quaffing buddy just down the road. She cooked us up a storm on Friday, feeding us home-made Cajun beefburgers, caramelised red onions and a side order of teaching both S and me how to pronounce the word “quinoa” properly. Food and facts, my favourite combination!
On Saturday, after a much-needed lie-in, we visited the lovely jeweller who made my engagement ring so that we could order my wedding band, which made the whole marriage thing a lot more real somehow. Afterwards we headed up to the local bike fest which S was not competing in for once, due to the immense 12 hour effort of last week. Instead we sat in the sunshine and watched the riders whilst consuming Frappuccinos and cherry shortbread, a state of affairs he seemed to prefer a lot more. We completed our lazy Saturday with an epic Lost fest; desperate to get some answers to questions such as, Why do they keep going back to the beach? and Where did that lighthouse come from? and Goddamn it, WHAT IS IT ALL ABOUT? we are speeding through Series 6, gobbling up 2 or 3 episodes at a sitting. Only 8 more episodes to go and maybe, just maybe, I will understand it all. But I’m not holding my breath.
The sun shone again on Sunday, a remarkable state of affairs that I’m not expecting to last. But while it did we took full advantage, visiting the local city farm to say hello to the pigs and chickens (sadly the goats are on holiday at the moment, luckily not a euphemistic one), and then having shandies outside in a beer garden. Later on we reversed our gender roles as I planted out squash and mint and beans in the garden, and S whipped up a delicious quiche and salad in the kitchen.
All in all, it was a good ending to my 27th year. I intend to ring in the 28th in style; we have a reservation for the restaurant at Hotel du Vin for my birthday evening, and I can wear my lovely new striped dress from H&M with my red heels. And here’s hoping the hints I dropped about this weekend bag will bear fruit!