The Wedding Diaries. Sam Binnie

glitter or a sexy-looking weapon on the front and back (each with a heavily airbrushed author photo). These are not Booker winners. But they keep people reading, and they pay for a roof over my head. I’m a fan.

      TO DO:

      Venue – location?

      Dress – book Suse to come

      Investigate how cross Mum will be if I don’t ask her to come dress shopping too

      Honeymoon – New York? Berlin?

      Buy bridal magazines

      August 20th

      Tony’s very kindly ordered a pile of wedding books For Reference Purposes before I get to work on Jacki’s book. I am indeed referring to them, not least to work out the things I need to get done over the next few months. Some more for the list:

      TO DO:

      Announce our engagement – email? Newspaper? Rooftops?

      Engagement party – usual gang? usual place? Friday night?

      Sort wedding date – August? (nice weather)

      Choose a colour scheme – blues? Nautical but Nice? Pinks? Like a big bruise? Or … all green. The Wedding of Oz. Ask Suse about colour schemes

      Dress – decide what shape I want (fishtail, strapless, A-line, column, empire, spherical, whatever)

      Find magazine images of veils, accessories I like (who has veil preferences?)

      Music for reception – see if Thom would be happy for Jim to find local band?

      August 23rd

      Here, for the record, is how we met.

      One day, seven years ago exactly, I’d come to stay with Susie and Pete during a university holiday, and was working at a terrible data-entry job, typing in the details of vacuum cleaner warrantees for seven hours a day. Susie – young, carefree, albeit recently married – had called me up and said, ‘Stop moping over your horrible lists. No one should have to care about vacuum cleaner purchase histories. If you haven’t met your quota, you can hang yourself later. You’re coming dancing with us tonight.’

      There was a big gang of them going out, a group from Susie’s radio station, all impossibly cool to someone still not quite officially in the big wide world, even though most of them were only a couple of years older than me. One of them had a birthday so they were all heading east to some super-chic bar, and Susie was insisting I join them. It was either that or an evening in with Pete (he was exhausted from his new job at a travel company) so I bolted back to the flat, threw on Susie’s favourite dress, pinned up my hair, and was out the door before Pete could regale me with a hilarious double-booking anecdote. When I got to Bar Electric – a bar so cool they simply put their records on shelves along the walls, so their hipster crowd could help themselves – Susie’s original gang had swelled to include other friends of friends, so I was tucked into the booth next to someone Susie didn’t know, so couldn’t introduce me to, while she went to get drinks. I had no eyes for the company though, because I couldn’t take my eyes off a guy I’d spotted the second I walked in. He had to be the best-looking human being I’d ever seen in my life. Piercing blue eyes, a half-smiling mouth, thick, perfectly-not-styled hair, and (from what I could see) a killer body: this was the full cliché. He was amazing. I couldn’t believe that not only had he not had me thrown out for looking at him, but he’d actually been looking back at me, talking to his friend, looking at me, turning back to the friend but constantly seeing if I was still looking at him. He was amazing. Susie arrived with my drink shortly after, which I necked in my nervousness.

      This went on for a while, until, after chugging four drinks and ignoring everyone else at our table, I’d gained enough confidence. I told Susie I was going over. She goggled her eyes at me and told me to take care and to be careful; she was pretty hammered too by that stage. I strutted over to where he was sitting by a wall of vinyl, and flicked through one box of records for a while. I could see a better lot higher up, and reached up as far as I could to access the Whitney Houston winking to me from its heavy wooden box. I stretched up past Handsome Man to show off my body at its best (‘Look how slender and supple I am,’ etc.) and just got my fingertips to it, pulling, lifting it down – and it teetered, overbalanced, tipped off the edge and punched its full weight directly into my eye socket. I screamed: ‘Motherfucker!’ and doubled over, clutching my hand to my face, while bar staff hurried up to pick up the box and check the records were OK. Susie rushed across to take me back to the table where she could check me over, and I got a quick glimpse of the exquisite discomfort on Handsome Man’s face. As Suse sat me down, I saw him getting his coat and pals and leaving the place, unable to look in my direction. Susie was drunkenly flustering a bit, but out of nowhere came a pint glass full of ice and a bar towel. I looked up and saw a guy turning away, sitting back down at the other side of the booth and continuing his conversation with some of Susie’s gang.

      I poured a handful of ice into the towel and put it to my face. I watched him as he was talking. He was so good looking: not hip, not breathtaking, not someone who would stop you in your tracks as you walked down the street, but with a face that looked good. Someone you would trust with your dog, your grandma, your handbag, your life. ‘When did he get here?’ I asked Susie. She looked at me, laughing. ‘Cuckoo, he’s been here all night.’ Just at that moment, he turned to me and smiled. And my heart disappeared somewhere out the top of my skull.

      (Just for the record, turns out the Twins were conceived that night. Who had to be careful, Susie?)

      Seven years ago today, Thom was out with his new work colleagues for his birthday. Happy birthday, you good man.

      August 26th

      I love our flat. It’s tiny, absolutely tiny, but I like it. Our landlord is totally brilliant – he lives in Canada so if anything goes wrong he just sends us money to fix it – and you get brilliant light in the living room in the summer. The kitchen is big enough for one (two if someone gets a chair and sits on the landing) which is just how I like it, the bathroom has a bath and a shower, and the bedroom has a king-size bed in. This is everything anyone could need in a home. Add to that our neighbours downstairs – a couple in their forties always offering us their lovely cast-offs, including a beautiful enamel casserole and an Art Deco glass jug recently – and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Thom, I think, could stand to live a little further from my family; Susie’s five minutes’ walk away and my mum and dad three minutes’ drive, but it’s not like she’s one of those creepy mums who keeps a key to all her children’s homes and lets herself in to do the laundry and washing up. Although if I could guarantee we’d always be out when she came, that wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing in the world. I’ve lived in a few places since leaving home, but we all ended up in the same neighbourhood, which still surprises me.

      We had a tough Sunday afternoon in the flat, dealing with all the various key points. Organising weddings is hard work.

      Me: I was thinking about the wedding party. Susie and Eve for my bridesmaids?

      Thom: Do you even like Eve?

      Me: Thom! She’s my oldest friend.

      Thom: I thought as much.

      Me: Have you sorted out your best man yet?

      Thom: I thought Rich.

      Me: Of course. And when shall we do this thing? August?

      Thom: Why not? If we do it near my birthday I’ll have no excuse for forgetting our anniversary.

      Me: Right. Done.

      Thom: Another beer?

      Me: Sure. We’ve earned it.

      TO DO:

      Relax. This stuff basically organises itself.

      August 28th

      Christ. Who knew you had to make an appointment just to try a dress on? Alice asked me where I’d booked, then had to explain it to me two or three times before I’d believe