Thursday morning at the Palladium
No luck with the bra. I may have to resort to duct tape, which will be sexy!
Never having taken chemistry at ‘O’ level, (I’m of a certain age, remember) I’d never even heard of Palladium. Apparently it’s the new platinum and there are loads of wedding and engagement rings available for a fraction of the cost. Armed with this new knowledge of the periodic table, me and Mr D went to have a look. We found a little jeweller’s where they make rings for Elton John and The Queen, no less. He showed us some mahoosive creations with trap doors and flashing lights on the side which hid little messages of something or other. BUT not for me. Your bog standard wedding rings however, aren’t as exciting as engagement 
rings I have discovered, mainly because I have to buy one for Mr D and it’s more expensive than the one he has to buy me. I don’t know what to do, my engagement ring is platinum, quite posh. I know you can’t tell the difference with the naked eye but what if, in 400 years, a descendant of Tony Robinson digs my body up and finds that not only are two of my teeth false, (to date) but also that I was cheap because my rings don’t match. Devastating. I admit to having had dreams of leaning my nose against Tiffany’s window and coming away with a little turquoise box but it’s possible that we may have to resort to 
buying our symbols of love and fidelity off the internet, which will be romantic. I am partial to a bit of thrift though.
I’ve got a couple of bra ladies searching for my magic bra. When asked, I was met with sharp intakes of breath and shakes of the head, like a plumber does when your pipes need plunging. Surely it must be out there somewhere. Do you remember when Joanna Lumley made shoes out of her bra? I could do that but the other way round, I have a nice pair of Japanese flip flops which might just do the trick.
The next job is the guest list for the reception. Is it ok to say to everyone, ‘every man for himself, or herself, sorry again mum, and leave it at that, I wonder? Yikes, it’s just occurred to me, I’m inheriting another Mother in Law, help.
When my other half proposed to me, in Covent Garden, on one knee, in cognito, with about three hundred diners and theatre goers behind him, followed by cheers and applause, (devastating), I subconsciously avoided mirrors for about a month, after saying ‘Yes’, you understand! I had a vision of myself in my slightly- slower- than -twenty – years – ago brain, of an elfin girl with tiny boobies and long spindly cartoon legs, skipping down the aisle with fairies and bluebirds following behind, on point like a ballerina, all virgin like. For a joyous while I thought I was going to be one of those brides you see in magazines with shiny shoulders and long tousled hair in soft focus, in a forest lit by shafts of sunlight streaming through the blossom branches, biting my lip, in a seductive manner. The reality however, is different. I’m a size fourteen at the top and a size 10 at the bottom, like a carrot, born under the sign of Virgo so it wasn’t long before I had to get real and start planning, dieting and saving, the latter two which I am baaaaaaaad at!!
Sometime has passed since our opening night in Covent Garden, it’s January now and our wedding is six months away. I already have my dress. I was so nervous when I went searching for the ‘perfect one’. I went in my wellies, which I left on the doormat outside the shop and went in in my socks. I often wonder why I do dim things. Apart from the time when I left my bedding in a tumble dryer I took to the tip, realised the next day and went back, with my wash basket, and removed my still fresh sheets in front of the tip guy, who looked at me, well, like that, you know what I mean, the wellies was the daftest thing I have done of late. The ladies in the shop were lovely but admitted the wellies were a first for them. My sister, daughter and niece all stood to attention as I tried on two dresses, number two was it, they measured my fat bits, I parted with the deposit, 
climbed back in to my wellies and went home. Admittedly I am really excited about my dress. It’s got one of those internal corsets that make you sit up like Elizabeth I, you can’t eat or wee all day but that’s fine. I’ve been for one fitting. I thought I should go in good pants but the only non- grey pair I owned was a thong thing and the poor woman in the shop got an eye full of my glutimous maximus she hadn’t banked on. Now, my dress and I are waiting. Everything else is still to be sorted, starting soon. We are off to see the florist, my other half coming really to stop me from going bonkers and ordering a whole garden full of stuff. I fancy trees, I must remain dignified and show some restraint. I am a woman of a certain age, after all.
Sam is now having shots done by the stable with the colourful doors providing a nice contrast to the pale dress. Bugs are an issue though on the sunny day and as Sam is holding a big bunch of flowers she is getting more than her fair share of buzzy things flying around her. The flowers were done by floral designer Alice and Rose and were delicate peach and white roses held together with raffia and had uncut stems to produce a rustic look. the contemporary floral designs gave a raw, relaxed look that fitted in perfectly both with the rural location and the beauty of the dress’ (and the stunning models.)
