Monday, May 10, 2010

We couldn't wait ...

Of course I couldn’t wait and we got married a month ago on 2nd April at beautiful East Close Country Hotel.

It was so much better than I’d imagined my wedding to be, which is something of a blessing seeing as my imagined wedding had been designed when I was about 8 so there were choirs of angels, vast numbers of guests in fancy dress outfits and a distinct lack of menu planning.

My 2010 wedding was informal but glamorous, emotional but fun and, above all, OURS! My husband was more adoring and more handsome than I could ever have wanted. The venue was just perfect in all its shimmering chandeliers, mirrors and wallpapers. The meal was perfect. The party was raucous and rammed. And the weather turned from stair-rod rain to bright sunshine in a blue-blue sky the moment I got to the end of the aisle (in tears, attractively enough). I cried most of the day, which was such a relief, actually, as the previous few weeks had been building up to such a crisis of stress I was worried I’d be so wound up that I wouldn’t feel anything. But I felt everything and was so, so happy!

The happiness buoyed us through the hang-overs-from-hell the following day and all the way through our lovely three days in Weymouth, where we slept and ate chocolate and cheese and drove around aimlessly trying to find pubs that were never open.

And now we’re back and a month married. Everyone asks us, does it feel any different? And, honestly, it doesn’t. Actually, that’s a lie: I feel warm when I thin about being married and I feel very safe. But for the rest of it … there are moments when we’re having a row – usually because I’m bored or he’s tired – where I realise that I couldn’t leave him, even if I wanted to now, but that’s a good thing. I want to be with him. Even though rowing with him is the most miserable thing on earth, I would rather row with him than anyone else in the world. And I can. I get to wake up with his silly little puppy face and poke his big belly and rub his little hobbit feet (what a lovely concoction of a man I’ve made there … ) every day and I’m very lucky.

And we moved to Winchester on 22nd December in blizzards into an 80s house decorated by rich elderly conservatives which we’re slowly trying to de-nan. And I now work at the School of Art here which is a delicious walk each morning through the park where I get to see ducks. The ducklings are due soon …