Wedding belles

It was my mate Bloater’s wedding on Saturday (there’s a story behind why I call her Bloater, but it’s a long one. Her real name is Laura) and I was privileged enough to be one of her four bridesmaids.

Friday night was a bride/bridesmaid bonding session, catching up over a three course meal in the hotel and finding out exactly what was happening at this wedding ‘cos we were a bit clueless.

Now the wedding wasn’t until 4pm on the Saturday and it was a long wait. Two of us bridesmaids sloped off to a tanning lounge and had a mooch round Asda to kill some time, and we tried to leave it as late as possible to get ready so the make-up didn’t slide off our faces by ceremony-time.

It was a lovely day and Bloater made a beautiful bride, as expected, and I hope the happy couple are enjoying themselves on their honeymoon in Ireland as I write this.

In summary, here are my wedding highs and lows:

Highs

• Looking fab in our gorgeous dresses. Bloater was very kind to us bridesmaids as our dresses were wicked and can defo be worn to black tie dos in the future without actually looking like a bridesmaid.
• Catching up with friends I haven’t seen for a while.
• Having lots of drinks bought for me. Bridesmaids don’t have pockets – cunning plan! Although my fellow bridesmaid did manage to keep cigarettes and a lighter in her bouquet of flowers.
• Dancing with Bloater’s dad – even though I did tread on his feet about 20 times. Poor chap.
• Taking the piss out of bridesmaid Lindsay. She’s now worked out that constant abuse from me means I like her. It’s when I’m nice to people that they have to worry.
• Watching Bloater’s face over breakfast on her first day of married life – as she struggled not to throw up in her cornflakes.
• Loved the fact that Bloater’s dad’s speech involved a lot of sick. And how the groom once had to pull Bloater’s house keys from her handbag – the one she’d just been sick in on a taxi ride home – which promptly made him throw up in Bloater’s mum’s shrubbery. Hilarious!
• The groom’s mum, starting the night before the wedding, kept telling us bridesmaids that we needed to behave ourselves. We weren’t 100 per cent sure if she was joking or not. What had she heard?
• Fellow bridesmaid Alice waking up at 6am in total panic because she had no idea why she was in her pyjamas and was convinced she’d lost her bridesmaids dress. Drunken bum.

Lows

• Bloater deciding she needed the loo just after we’d squeezed her into her dress. I proved myself a true friend by bundling her into the loo, holding her dress up over her head and passing her the loo roll. very undignified.
• Doing up the buttons on the back of Bloater’s dress, very tricky, especially with freshly painted nails. But the groom had the worst bit – having to undo them at the end of the night.
• The photographer taking piccies of us while we were getting ready. Pyjamas and no make-up is not a good look for me.
• Lack of single people. Apart from three single bridesmaids there was one single man in the building and he’d already made approaches to the two other single bridesmaids on previous occasions. And he’s short. Serious lack of available talent.
• Couples everywhere, yuk. Yes, it’s a happy occasion but a bit of a depressing reminder for us single folk that we’re not even close to getting our own special day.
• Driving away from the hotel on Sunday knowing that it was all over. Maybe I should hire myself out as a professional bridesmaid?

Hair we go…

I was very brave at the hairdressers last night when I asked for most of my locks to be chopped off. Although a little nervous about having a totally new do, I was bored, in need of a change and wanted a style more suited to the winter season.

So, my long light brown hair with blonde highlights has been replaced by a brunette bob with flashes of red and black. Very rock chick, a tad Goth and tres stylish me thinks.

My colleagues thought a new girl had joined the office this morning and I’m not sure my family will recognise me at the weekend. My locks will no doubt look a lot less polished tomorrow when I have to style it myself. I took great care to sleep with my hair delicately folded under my head last night so as not to ruin the hairdresser’s efforts and retain my shiny head of hair for work today.

Tomorrow will be a different story, trying to tame the sticky out bits and recreate today’s look. We’ll see how I get on. Need to master it pretty quickly as I’m a bridesmaid for my mate Bloater on Saturday and I need to look like a lady.

Happy hens.. but a sick bride

I’ve been a bit slack on the blog writing front ‘cos I’ve had a manic week, spending only one night in the past 10 days at home. And I’m feeling a tad sleep deprived as I write this.. all will become clear over the next couple of blog entries.

So, my Bank Holiday weekend was spent enjoying Bloater’s hen weekend, organised by the four of us who are privileged enough to be her bridesmaids. Now, my friendship with Bloater has been forged over many years and started about eight years ago when we were united in our love for mince pies. She’s a dear friend, a great laugh and she deserved the best of hen weekends – and by jove she got one!

All hens arrived before Bloats as she had no idea where she was going. But there was a bit of trouble on her journey to destination Nottingham as our matey Sam (designated driver) discovered… Bloater gets mega travel sickness. I spoke to Sam and Bloats a couple of times during their drive over, directing them to the cottage we were staying in and checking on ETA so we could get the dinner on. Sam sounded like she was flagging and Bloater was desperate to get me off the phone. What was going on??!! As the pair of them pulled up, Bloater dived out of the car and blew chunks in the nearest bush, narrowly missing her own feet. Once she was done, she flung her arms open to give me a big hug. Hmmmm.

Anyway, following the bride to be’s episode of sickness, the girly fun began. Friday night consisted of 11 hens, lots of pizza and garlic bread, wine and Superstar Singstar, the karaoke video game thing. We also pulled on T’shirts branding Bloater’s favourite hunks and had a mini quiz. Then we piled into bed at 3am.

Saturday was an early start so we could get to Sherwood Forest for our biking adventure. Four hours on bikes, a summer picnic and a few gear troubles later, we returned to the cottage for tea, cake and an afternoon snooze. Then we ate pasta and salad, pulled on our glad rags and headed into Nottingham for drinks and dancing – and the peg game! This involves pegging random strangers (using washing line pegs) without them noticing and is hours of endless fun.

On Sunday we were all flagging a bit so after a lazy morning the bride and bridesmaids headed into Derby for a spot of shopping while the others piled into a health spa for swimming, sauna and general relaxation. Us bridesmaids needed shoes to match our dresses and with all of us scattered across the country, this was our last chance before the wedding to shop while we were all in the same location. None of us were in the mood for shopping but it was over and done with pretty quickly, and then we joined the others at the pool.

The health spa was fab and in a beautiful location, the only downside being the three loved up couples who set up permanent residence in the jacuzzi. Get a room! After hot showers (a luxury as our idyllic cottage had just one downside, major lack of hot water) we headed home for hot dogs and DVDs. Bliss.

Monday, the final day of henmania, was rounded off with breakfast, a bit of a tidy up and loading the cars up with all the fod we’d failed to munch our way through. We also had to bid a farewell to Wodash, the three legged dog from next dor, who seemed to befriend us girls. Even though Bloater referred to the poor hound as “tripod” and later Wozniak (dont’s ask!!!!) the dog looked genuinely sad when we pulled off the gravel drive and headed home.

All in all a perfect weekend! Only five weeks until the wedding. Yay!

My old mate Mr Egg

Well, my Easter extravaganza was not so extravagant. After a couple of days of bridesmaid bliss - eating cake, drinking coffee and girly chatter, I headed over to Birmingham for a night on the tiles.

What’s so extravagent about Brum I hear you cry? Exactly. We ditched the idea of the seaside or car journey/day trip further afield ‘cos of the bloomin’ freezin’ weather and plumped for free accommodation and an easy night out. But it was pants. The first bottle of wine tasted like vinegar, I could barely walk in my high heels (due to six weeks of wearing flats and trainers), the club we chose was not up to much and there was no hot totty to be seen. The highlight of the night was a conversation with Alan the bouncer, who wore a very fetching furry hat, and kebab meat and chips courtesy of Mr Egg.

Mr Egg is a fastfood takeaway in Chinatown, but I used to think he was a real person. My old buddy once dashed out of a club protesting she had to see Mr Egg and that she was going to be too late. Who is this Mr Egg I wondered? She’d never mentioned him before! What was the urgency? When I finally caught up with her she was scoffing chips and mayo – and that was my first introduction to Mr Egg.

Us trio of girlies remained in brum the following day and had the laziest Easter Sunday ever. We pulled on our jeans around midday and tucked into gourmet burgers and chips and then retired to the sofas and watched three films back to back, getting up only for toilet breaks, coffee refills or to fetch crisps from the cupboard. I did miss a fair chunk of the Wizard of Oz though ‘cos I needed to rest my eyes. Sheer laziness, sheer pleasure. 

Good Friday will be Great Friday

This Friday is officially Good Friday but for me it will be Great Friday. And here’s why…

I’m trekking back home to the shire Friday am (not home to the folks, an hour further north west) to Shrewsbury to catch up with two wicked mates and ex journo work buddies. I haven’t seen them since way before Christmas and the day will be dedicated to girly gossip, eating, laughing, and more girly gossip.

Mate number one, let’s call her Bloater (my nickname for her for the last five years), has just moved into her first home with her fiance and as she’s getting married in October and I’m a bridesmaid, there’ll be lots of wedding news to catch up on, plus a guided tour of her new pad. And what I love about Bloats the most? She’s a very intelligent woman but she says some really daft things, such as: “Venison? Is that a very big bird?”

Then there’s Sambo who’s a wee bit older than me and Bloats (she’ll hate me for saying that) and my former editor on The Tizer. Sam’s brill. You can’t shock her with anything you tell her (she’ll have probably done it already), she gives great advice – work and personal – and she holds down a stressy job while caring for three children. Well, two children and a husband actually. Soz Nige. And she also knows about grown-up stuff like buying vacuum cleaners, mortgages and sewing buttons onto clothes. Clever woman!

So, the three of us will catch up on four months of gossip and put the world to rights. Can’t bloomin’ wait. I also get the honour of staying at Bloater’s new gaff – in butterfly sheets no less. How very fancy.

Right, onto Saturday and Bridesmaids Wot Brunch. Bloater and her four bridesmaids, me being one of them, are gonna hook up for cake and cwaffee (to be said in American accent) to talk weddings, dresses (the four bridesmaid outfits are pictured above) and shoes. And then we plan to ditch Bloats and get down to the nitty gritty – the hen night. With four of us trying to organise it – all living at opposite sides of the country – it has the potential to get messy. I just hope my bossy-ness/control freakism doesn’t seep out when we’re talking L plates, veils and water pistol willies.

Anyways, it’s all good. And then there’s my Easter extravaganza to look forward to. Don’t you just love Bank Holidays?!

Bridesmaid bliss

On Saturday I indulged in a day of utter girlyness. The day began like any other – rubbing the sleep from my eyes and wishing it wasn’t time to get up yet – and ended around a dinner table, supping wine (lemondade for me, I was driving) and lots of laughter.

The reason for the gathering is ‘cos my mate Bloater (her name’s Laura but that’s what I call her, long story) is getting married and I have the honour of being one of her four bridesmaids.

On Saturday the five of us (plus a straggler who just loves all things wedding) went to a shop called Fairytale Dreams (barf!) to see Bloater in her wedding dress. Ah, she looks so pretty and all grown up. Even though she’s three years younger than me.

Then we headed off for the most important part of the day – the bridesmaid dress hunt. We trekked to Walsall ( God awful place) and found haven in the bridal shop where, amazingly, the four of us found dresses we liked – and Bloater loves them too.

Now, the four of us are all different shapes and sizes – two tall-ies, two shorties, two olive-skinned, two a little more pasty, bla bla bla. Yet, we managed to find dresses (which came in two different styles, straps or no straps) to suit us all. We’re taking two of each style and the dress woman practically had to pull them off us before we left. Jeans just don’t compare when you’re floating around in a pretty frock.

The only bit I didn’t like was the measuring. The nice lady made comments like “you’re in complete proportion” and “haven’t you got a tiny waist” to the others. Resounding silence when she came to me and I have the biggest hips of the lot – I sneaked a peak at her scribblings. Does that make me the fat bridesmaid? No, it’s all muscle anyway and I am the tallest! And I managed get in the size 12 and do the zip up all the way to the top, so I’m happy.

After a gossip over a tiramisu latte (heavenly) we straightened our hair, topped up the lip gloss and headed to a posh pub for grub where we scoffed, sipped and nattered the night away.

We covered the usual girly topics – the day of the wedding, the hen night, boyfriends, men’s rude parts and the joys of dating.

And, no pre-wedding gathering would be complete without a mention of the bride’s new surname – she’s going to be Mrs Hoare! Laura Hoare! It’s the source of much amusement. I reckon she should pronounce it Hoe-are-ay, kinda like Mrs Bucket/Bouquet. Her hubby to be is very good  humoured about the whole thing. He answers the home phone: “Hello, Hoare house.” Classic.

 For more wedding chat see http://ckrandom.wordpress.com/2007/11/26/alls-well-in-wedding-la-la-land/