The Wedding Diaries

Me: No! Why, do you have to get him prostitutes? Don’t answer that. Actually – maybe they’ll help. He asked me to get him … some coke.

Zoe: Oh God. Kiki. This is awkward.

Me: Tell me about it. Where the hell am I going to get drugs in Chiswick at noon on a Tuesday?

Zoe: [not sure if I’m joking, clearly] No, Kiki. He means a coke. A drink. That’s it. A coke. He’s clean as a whistle drug-wise these days. He just likes being a total and complete prick instead. He’s done this gag to a few assistants in the past. He thinks it’s really funny.

Me: I’m fairly sure I’m about to die now.

Zoe, may heaven rain down blessings upon her for all eternity, grinned at me and mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. I couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Pedro at that moment, so I walked to the corner shop and bought six cans of Coke with my Polka Dot credit card. There’s something unbelievably forlorn about putting four quid on your corporate credit card, but I was damned if Pedro would have anything from me bar my extremely efficient but ice-cold presence at his bloody photo shoot. I left them on his table and ensured I kept as far away from him as possible for the rest of the day – a feat not made easy by the fact that I had to also remain within earshot of Jacki at all times. This led me to spend almost an hour hiding behind a pillar in one room, until Pedro shouted, ‘Can someone get rid of that bloody hairdo behind the post!’ and I walked out of the room without looking back, wondering if Thom could marry me in prison once I’ve murdered a celebrity photographer.

I stayed until 4pm when they’d switched to doing dress shots indoors: they’ll continue for the next two days there. I convinced Jacki that she didn’t need me there for tomorrow at least, and I’d be back on Wednesday if she really wanted.

Don’t tell me this job ain’t glamorous.

TO DO:

Photographers are clearly nightmares – find out if we can take our own wedding photos (hold camera at arms’ length and beam up into it)

Find out if I can get The Dress cheaper online

Find a wedding cake maker

November 12th

Jim’s come through like a star. He called last night to say he’s had luck with two of the houses he’s gigged at. Wingfield Manor and Redhood Farm are willing to give us 20% discounts, meaning it would only be around £6,000 at either place. Now I need to frame this for Thom to make it sound as attractive and necessary as possible, and we will all be laughing (not least on our wedding day, surrounded by honeysuckle and rose sprays on the terrace of a beautiful old house while I pray no one’s got drunk and attempted to throw an antique sofa in the lake, or whatever). Wingfield Manor is out of London a bit, towards Reading, but seems like a really charming old Brideshead Rejuvenated manor house; while Redhood Farm, while it looks utterly delicious from its pictures, is all the way out by Ipswich. Ipswich! That’s

basically Denmark.

Poor Thom has to work again this weekend. I’d feel a little bit cross but his job is making him so miserable right now that I know he’d do anything to not have to go in, and to come venue-shopping to the few remaining London venues with me. I’ll take him in lunch both days, although I don’t expect to eat with him – he’ll just give me a frazzled thank you and a kiss, then he’ll leave the food on his desk until 5pm when he suddenly realises he’s starving, and vague memories of seeing me bring supplies will surface. Poor Thom.

I also know that in his absence, this is the kind of stuff I should be doing with my bridesmaids, but it’s so depressing to always get the same response from Suse for this kind of thing, her stuck at home due to Pete’s travels, and Eve’s gone on a business trip for a fortnight. Even if Eve could come, I suspect she’d be trying to seduce the venue manager, or being cynical about everything I like. So Alice continues to be my man.

TO DO:

Flowers – decide what we want: boutonnières, posies/bouquets, headpieces, centrepieces, 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.