The Wedding Diaries. Sam Binnie

to cost one month’s wages? It’s got to be an extra-special piece of jewellery, to show how much … your husband … loves … you …

      Thom: If that’s what you really want, Kiki. [turning to vendor] Sorry mate. Looks like I was wrong.

      It turned out that Thom had snuck over to the market a few days before, spotted the ring and, knowing I’d love it, asked the guy to keep it for me. Thom told me all about how special he knew I’d find it, with its own personal history and a unique story that no ring in a jewellery shop would ever have, of how it was originally made for a young wife by her new husband, with stones to signify passion and constancy for their life ahead. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me this until he’d turned off the light after finally coming up at midnight; he’d driven us home without talking and had been watching the TV in a terrible silence, until I’d lost my nerve and slunk off to bed alone. I’m writing this now in the bathroom by the shaving light, wondering whether my dearly beloved is tempted to call off the whole thing. Oh God. What have I done?

      TO DO:

      Dress – still needed?

      Venue – as above?

      Honeymoon – see if Susie is available to accompany me on the solo holiday I may need to get used to, in my new single life

      September’s Classic Wedding!

      Everybody was asked to the fêtes of the marriage. Garlands and triumphal arches were hung across the road to welcome the young bride. The great St Michael’s Fountain ran with uncommonly sour wine, while that in the Artillery Place frothed with beer. The great waters played; and poles were put up in the park and gardens for the happy peasantry, which they might climb at their leisure, carrying off watches, silver forks, prize sausages hung with pink ribbon, etc. at the top.

       Vanity Fair

      William Makepeace Thackeray

       September 2nd

      Thank bloody God. Thom went back to the market the next morning and bought the ring without telling me. I hadn’t said one word to him since we’d left the market the day before (besides a whispered but heartfelt apology when I finally got into bed with him after writing this last night) and felt nauseous all the next day – what a horrible way to behave! When he came home last night with a poorly hidden smile and a tiny parcel of ring, I was full of promises and apologies, leaping at him like an overexcited puppy.

      When I wore the ring to work today, Alice was in raptures over it, and even Norman raised an approving eyebrow. Carol could only muster, ‘Couldn’t afford a new one?’ which earned a guffaw from Norman. He might not give two figs about your weekend plans or the small talk of an office, but I have my suspicions that he may actually be human after all.

      Tony gave me Jacki Jones’s email address so I could get in touch with her to start planning the book. Her agent is also her fiancé so I’m to avoid letting him know anything about the book, which, I have to say, is probably just about the worst business sense I’ve ever heard. Still, her wedding has been set for April next year, and the book will be rushed out to hit the shelves three weeks afterwards. Tony’s promised me a definite promotion if this book works out. Not only a whole new job title (not Editorial Assistant – oh no – now I would be Assistant Editor. Woop!) but more money too (which in publishing terms probably means only enough money that I can switch from ‘takeaway’ to ‘eat in’ at the café at the corner, but still). And if I ever want to make it out of Polka Dot’s hallowed doors and into the world of the big hitters, I need something like this under my belt.

      TO DO:

      Find out what we need to do for ceremony and reception

      Guest book and photo albums?

      Ceremony music – piano?

      Wedding cake – classic cake? Something different?

      Ultimately treat someone else’s wedding as a great deal more important to me than my own

      September 4th

      Right, time to think about the engagement party. With some brief research (three bridal magazines and asking around the office) the trend seems to be for garden parties and gift lists. I think we’ll just try the Queen’s Arms: it’s close to us and Susie, and it’s nearish enough to the tube that people can roll around after work without too much labour. We’ll try for next Friday, and allow a few rounds to be bought if the Moneybags Crew turns up from Thom’s work. Thom can tell his lot, I’ll tell mine, and we can flip a coin for anyone who falls into both or neither camp.

      September 8th

      Dress day! What joy, what raptures! Who would have known that white floor-length dresses are the most flattering thing ever? Well, maybe Elizabeth Taylor. I thought it best to hedge my bets by booking us into an affordable place, as well as a more expensive option. We thought we’d work our way up, so started just off Oxford Street at the cheap place. And when I say cheap, I mean the wedding dresses are a bit less than £1,000. £1,000! Hahahahahhahaha! £1000! The absolute most I have ever spent on a single piece of clothing is £210, on a beautiful Jigsaw dress that was the most stunning thing I’d ever seen but in practice made me look like a gammon with the string left on. The ‘Cheap Dresses’ were even more lovely than that, and I was hugely surprised by trying on – and loving – the most Bridey McBriderson dresses, strapless and flouncy and lacy and glittering, like big white cakes. Oh, they made me so happy (them, or the champagne they gave us. One or the other). I felt like a royal-iced angel, and wanted more than anything for the walls to drop away to reveal Busby Berkeley dancers that would high kick and lift me around and around in a bridal wonderland. Maybe that was the champagne. I came out in one dress like a tulle snowball.

      Susie: Oh, to have and to hold.

      Me: For richer, or for poorer?

      Susie: I’m sickness for how in health you look.

      Me: Death will not part me from this dress.

      We were sniggering so much by then that the nice lady encouraged me to maybe take off the dress, so I did just that, waving goodbye to the beauty as we headed off with light, giddy hearts to the Pricey Shop, sure that we’d already seen our winners and only anxious over convincing Thom that his salary honestly could stretch to £950 for a dress I’d sport for ten hours. But then … Oh, then. The Pricey Shop wasn’t just full of the most beautiful dresses, but the most beautiful everything. The carpet. The chairs. The changing rooms. Even the women in white gloves who helped me in and out of each dress. They only laughed politely when I asked if I could move in with them there. I, however, sighed piteously when, after three dresses, Susie said she didn’t have much time left in town – Pete had something on in the evening so she had to get back to get the Twins in bed.

      Susie: I’m sorry, Kiki, but he did ask me yesterday, and I have been out all afternoon.

      Me: All afternoon? Bloody hell, move over Emmeline Pankhurst.

      Susie: Don’t, Kiki.

      Me: What?

      Susie: Don’t give me a hard time. He needs some time to himself too – while we’ve been gadding about like bridal pixies, he’s been slaving over a hot desk. Give the poor lad a break.

      Me: [swallowing rage, sitting down next to her and slinging an arm around] Of course. I’m only sad that we don’t have time for the post-wedding-dress-try-on paintballing I had booked.

      Assistant: Excuse me, madam, we have one more that may be what you’re looking for.

      Susie: Ah, the old ‘one more thing’ trick. Worked for Columbo.

      Me: I don’t think that’s the same trick as Columbo’s.

      Susie: Your mum doesn’t think that’s the same trick as Columbo’s.

      Me: That