I DO.

I GOT MARRIED!!!!

Joke.. calm down Dad, I didn't.

So, last week, I went to a wedding. Here's an interesting fact for you: This whole 'I do' thing is a MYTH. They don't say it. THEY DON'T. They say 'I will' which is far less dramatic and committed. But other than that, weddings are fun even if you are the awkward plus one who has never met the bride before (thankfully she is easily spotted in the crowd).

This particular wedding, was very traditionally English. It involved church singing, castles, lemon curd, top hats, nibbles, a one shouldered wedding dress with a long train...

I have to admit, despite having been married before myself (to Enrique Iglesias, in my head), I don't find weddings aesthetically pleasing most of the time. The flower arrangements, dress materials, tiaras, chair ribbons, venues... but most importantly I never really know what to wear! This is an important issue. I don't want to wear black, I can't wear white, I can't wear anything 'too much' (especially when I'm a plus one), I can't be too casual and I often feel like I need to wear control pants even though I ALWAYS end up taking them off mid-reception because I can't breath.

But last Saturday all this was about to change ( minus the control pants. I did wear them and as expected took them off somewhere between the amuse bush and main course), I had one cute, blue, understated dress that I was quite happy with. Realistically, I should have known it never stood a chance. For as Saturday morning saw the excited bride drinking champagne with her bridesmaids and the jittery groom looking for the church's emergency exits (I'm sure he didn't, I just thought I'd be stereotypical/sexist for entertainment purposes. Did it entertain you?), I was experiencing the aggressive warmth of freshly boiled water on my bare skin and the deep sepia colour of brewed coffee on my newly bought dress. In telegraphic detail: 6.45 am the alarm clock goes off. I get up. Get in the shower. Get out of the shower. Take ten minutes to squeeze into them Bridget Jones pants. Dress on, make up on, kettle on. Kettle off, mug out, coffee in, boiling coffee all over me. dress off. skin off. massive coffee stain on. DISASTER. But this is a story with a happy ending. The dress got salvaged thanks to the loyal boyfriend who washed it and blow dried it while I was applying toothpaste all over my burnt arms and chest (on the plus side, I smelt extra minty that day!). My skin remained bright red for the entire weekend, I didn't mind too much except that I had painted my nails red and I'm not a fan of the matchy matchy look.

Of course, don't expect any actual photos of it because the only thing I happily posed for were pictures in which I played croquet... a sport that other than a small Alice in Wonderland reference, I don't know much about. You have a ball and a stick that is not a flamingo (massive let down) and a little square on the ground that the ball has to go through.

My dress had three little bows at the back and some sort of a peplum effect. Clutch, jewellery and the whole shebang were also part of the outfit but I opted for comfort over fashion on the pitch. It was an important game. 

Fur, heels and the occasional top hat are actually the required attire for this sport. 

Needless to say, I sucked at it.

 (no actual flamingos were harmed during this badly photoshopped athletic correction.)