Out of sheer cussed-mindedness I have been harassing the Scales of Doom (yes, giving in to it and accepting this is their name); on Friday I was Fat.0 (you may recall), on Sunday I was Porky.13 (hurrah) and today I was back to Fat.0. Umm... I know it’s only the Friday reading wot counts, but with a certain level of detachment, it’s interesting to see the lack of consistency. I suspect my detachment will vanish into a hyperventilating, sobbing mass of freakery if tomorrow tells me Fat.1 of course. I don’t deserve it but my faithless body knows no shame. Not in a sordid way, I hasten to add, purely in a lard-clinging way.
We may have found our wedding venue at the weekend – I loved its downright eccentricity and the real can-do enthusiasm of the staff. I also like the fact we could treat our guests to more and better booze and have a much more personal day. And then we saw a horrid venue too – quite useful in a way I guess. But bf was pretty tetchy all weekend, I behaved like a wuss right up until the time I felt I had to tackle it. Note to self: 10.30pm on a Sunday is not the time to let all your bottled up angst erupt. I got 2 ½ hours sleep. He got a little more. Because we were rowing, folks. All horrid, horrid, horrid. I can’t bear arguments, they leave me bruised (metaphorically) and wounded – I can’t say my piece, accept things can be said in the heat of an argument that need to be set in that context and then feel the air is cleared and move on. I wish I could. The wedding appears still to be on so it can’t be that bad.
We also went to get a glimpse of a venue that we’re booked in to see next month. It is a NT stately home. It was fairly reasonably priced (in the crazy world of weddings) but then again, we’re way off season. I’m so glad we were passing as I wouldn’t have been able to keep a poker face when the wedding co-ordinator showed us round ..... the cafe. Seriously. It’s in the overflow room of the cafe, nowhere near the house, but in the car park. Oh the romance; be still my beating heart. And this was after the venue that looked a bit and smelt a lot of an institution (possibly an incarcerating one) where the wedding planner lady gaily introduced me to the concept of ‘bridal bric-a-brac’ which was run by their ‘Head of Titillation but we call her Tits. She’s such a one!”. I would not let this woman loose on my wedding for fear that I’d knock Jordan into a deep funk of envy. They were heavy on pink polyester in their photos which should have been warning enough.