The Last Goodbye

 On Sunday 20th November 2011- exactly ten years ago today- I wrote my first blog post.

I had been scrolling through whatever social media was then (I have a feeling it was Facebook but it looks so different in my memory) and saw that a university friend had started writing. She was posting every week and, despite being quite definitely filed in my mind under Facebook Friends Only, I absolutely loved reading about her life. 

It was then that I discovered that you could just scroll through blogs and discover the lives of people all over the globe. (This was 2011 remember, Facebook had only just introduced having a cover photo and it would be seven years before I joined Instagram- scrolling the lives of strangers was a very new concept.) 

This inspired me to start my own blog. I spent ages playing with background colours and patterns, testing out font styles, and moving the title around until I felt satisfied that it looked like a heading. The name- my own full name- took very little consideration. The friend I was copying had used her full name as the title, so I used mine. 

I wrote in that first post that I was going to keep you entertained with my upcoming adventures but I wasn't sure exactly what they were going to be yet. I ended the post 'how exciting'. Reading it back, it's bursting with Christmas-Eve-style optimism, and I feel slightly envious of that person, not long out of university, starting this huge adventure. 

I remember feeling so, so very nervous when I first posted it, and being over the moon when my mum liked it.

I later told somebody at a new job that I couldn't believe how well it was doing, and the next day she came in and told me she had looked it up and was disappointed with its success. 

"It looks like it's just...your friends and family that like it." 

It was around the same time that vlogging had just well and truly taken off. I think she had thought she was now working with Zoella, and was disappointed to find that the comments I'd mentioned I was proud of had all been written by people with the same surname as me. 

Despite that, I'm incredibly proud of and grateful for it. 

Around the same time that I started my blog, I wrote a letter from my 22 year old self to my 32 year old self, to be opened early next year. I wrote about my hopes and expectations for those years between 2012 and 2022, and made some predictions about where we would all be now. 

I can't wait to read it. 

I know this:

I hoped I will have worked in Disney. I could never have known how incredible it would be. 

I hoped I would have a daughter called Mia. I know that 22 year old me would have been beside herself to hear I not only had Mia, but I had Mia, the best little person I've ever met. Until her little sister was born, when they tied for that title. 

I hoped I would still be friends with the women I had nicknamed Minnie Mouse, Pumbaa and Madam Adelaide. I predicted that I would be, but I also know I would be over the moon to know we're closer than ever. That I almost had Millie in Pumbaa's garden. That Minnie parents my daughters via Whatsapp, and that my favourite part of the week is breakfast with Madam Adelaide on a Sunday. I had predicted all their futures and reading how wrong I got it might just be the thing I'm most looking forward to about this letter.

I know that I once again wrongly predicted who I would be married to, but correctly predicted that Jiminy Cricket would be married to her actual husband and would have children.

 I could never have predicted that my parents would have split up, or that I'd have been to funerals of friends in their 20s, or that I would come to fully understand the famous Sunscreen line: 'the real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind.' 

I couldn't have predicted meeting and marrying someone who loves Disney more than I do. I couldn't have predicted how much I would end up loving the children I was a Nanny for. I wrote my first ever blog post, published it, then went out for dinner to say goodbye to my family and moved to Ireland to Nanny for them the next day. Ten years ago tomorrow. I still think about them every day. 

I've quite often spoken to my incredibly wise friend Simba about being caught in the trap of Waiting For Life to Start. When I started this blog, I felt like I was on the cusp of The Start of Life. I had spent a summer in France, and had loved it, and was planning on more adventures abroad. I absolutely loved every minute of living abroad, and of working as a Nanny in London during winter 2012 (for a little girl I loved more than life itself, nicknamed Millie) but it was always with it in mind that when I got back I would start my Real Life. Then we were renting. You know, just until we bought a house and our Real Life started. Then we had a baby. And went into survival mode. Just got to get her to sleep through, then Real Life will start. Then we went into lockdown. Another baby. Always waiting. 

But looking back over the ten years, and reflecting on one or two things from each year that brought me joy, is the most glorious reminder that I've been living life all this time. That it's the tiny, every day, potentially easily forgotten bits that make a life wonderful, and that at the centre of that are the people.

I couldn't have predicted the little things that made these ten years what they were...

The way 3 year old Kyle pronounced 'radiator'. The marmite on toast and walk on the beach I had the day after St Patricks Day in Dublin. 

The time Dumbo and I had (way) too much drink in iBar in Florida and clung onto each other laughing, unable to breathe for how funny we found this awkward American man, when he really wasn't very funny at all. 

The Lion King 15th anniversary when people came to the theatre for 6am (it wasn't 6am, I can't remember what time it was, it felt like the middle of the night but was probably 9am) and they blasted The Circle of Life as they let the first people in and I had to try not to sob serving them. 

The absolute joy of playing Heads Up in our pyjamas at a hen weekend. 

The way a colleague kept very subtly and kindly disagreeing with me until I had a total rethink about my values. She absolutely changed me as a person and has therefore affected who my children will be, and I'm far too British to tell her. 

The time Pumbaa said the wrong thing at the right time and I laughed probably the most I have ever laughed. I'm laughing about it now. 

The eleven months that Dale and I lived in our first flat together. We did a lot of dancing and a lot of laughing in that home. Someone came round once and told us they didn't know how we could be so happy in such a tiny flat. I've felt sad for that person ever since. 

My Dad's face at my wedding. 

The time that we went out for lunch for my Grandma's 75th birthday and my cousins made me laugh so much that my Grandma was certain I'd give birth on the lovely flooring in the hotel.

The first time we took Mia to Disney World- honestly the best 2 weeks of my life. Potentially joint with the second time we took her.

The first time we sat in the house we had bought and it felt like home- about a year after we first got the keys. 

The absolute surreal rollercoaster that was lockdown. The incredible memories made alongside the all consuming fear.

 The time my Uncle Simon hosted the quiz after a couple of drinks and made me laugh too much to participate.

The hypnobirthing course that Dale, Mia and I all did together because we were locked down so she had to join in. 

The moment Mia met Millie. 

The tears when my sister in law sent me a photo of a positive pregnancy test. 

The moment I met my nephew for the first time.

Almost every single thing that Mia has ever said. The way Millie smiles at herself in the mirror. 

Reading my first ever blog post back today, after ten years, and realising there was a spelling mistake in it. 

Today I will be saying goodbye to this blog- it lasted far longer and gave me far more than I could ever have predicted. I've changed so very much in that time, as has the world, as has my name. 

Luckily for me, I will hold onto all its glorious characters and continue to make memories with them- good and bad, laughter and tears, and a whole lot of scrumptious mundanity that I will, I've no doubt, look back on with huge affection. 

Maybe I'll start a new blog account. Maybe I'll finally get that book published. Maybe I'll start to sleep again. 

Who knows?

In the meantime, thank you so, so much for reading; whether you've been here since 2011 or this is your first read, I really appreciate you taking the time to take an interest in my story. 

Whether you have the same surname as me or not. 

Here's to the next ten years. 

How exciting. 

Some Things Never Change

I can remember it so clearly. 

I'm not totally sure what year it was- 1998 or 1999, I imagine. An age at which I was almost definitely too old to be playing what we called Mums and Dads and what my four year old daughter would now call Homes, but I was too happy to care. Playing Mums was always my favourite game. 

I was playing with my baby boy doll, Charlie, and my best friend Emma was playing with her two dolls- Holly and Annabell.

Emma and I both had two brothers, and the youngest two were five years younger than us, so we used to push Charlie, Holly and Annabell around in our little brothers' big buggies, filling up their old baby bottles with water (and on one horrific occasion, milk. A fantastic lesson in Why We Keep Milk In the Fridge) and pretending to be our mums by waving car keys around in the air and saying things like "well the direct debit was a nightmare" with absolutely no idea about what we were actually saying. 

Anyway. On this particular occasion, we were standing on my (gated, I should say) driveway, pretending to be doing the pre-school drop off, when Emma waved her mother's car key around in the direction of her two dolls- Annabell and Holly- and said 'well I just think it's so good for the girls'. 

The second she said it, I loved it as a phrase. 

In my house, and her house, in fact, there were The Boys, and then there was The Girl. Becca and The Boys. Emma and Her Brothers. I'd never heard the phrase 'the girls' used to refer to siblings before, and I absolutely loved the way it sounded. 

Immediately I was sure I'd have two girls, and for the rest of my primary school years (and, if I'm honest, a lot of my secondary ones) I looked forward to it. I was going to have two girls named Talia and Mia, and I would refer to them as The Girls- or even better- My Girls- for as long as they would tolerate it. 

Then I got into my twenties, I was a Nanny for two boys who I loved more than life itself, and that narrative changed. It was to be two boys- Josh and Charlie- and my lifetime of being in charge of The Boys would continue. 

Then, at the ripe old age of 27 (6 years later than I had planned with Emma on my driveway in the mid nineties), I became pregnant. Naturally, I assumed it was a boy, as did absolutely everyone in my family. Until one day- and I cannot explain this- I knew it was a girl. I cannot explain the certainty, but suddenly all dreams of Josh and Charlie disappeared and were replaced once again with Talia and Mia. 

We went for a scan to confirm, and told the staff I'd fall off the table in shock if they told me it was a boy. They told me afterwards that as soon as they saw that resolute look in my eye they'd known it was a girl, but that they'd done the actual scientific checking just in case. 

On 10th October 2017, our Mia arrived, totally calm like her daddy (who was not, as Emma had predicted, Adam from Mrs Carter's class, but, believe it or not, someone we hadn't known when we were eight) and, like her mummy, absolutely furious at how cold it was. 

Then before I knew it, it was 24th September 2020 and I was driving to work, listening to Steph McGovern's hilarious podcast Not Bad For a Monday. She was telling stories about job interviews going wrong, and told one that involved food from the interviewer's mouth landing on the interviewee's lip, and how the interviewee had to keep chatting as though they hadn't noticed. 

I promptly stopped the car at a conveniently placed junction in the, fortunately, very sleepy village of Sheering, and vomited all over the passenger seat. I then spent the rest of the day counting down the minutes to when I'd be able to rush home to the patiently waiting Clear Blue pregnancy test in my bathroom cupboard.

I have no magical video to share at this point- I'm always in awe of anyone who a) thinks to film or even just take a photo of that glorious pee-covered stick, and b) anyone who then keeps it a secret and reveals it to their husband on their birthday or some similar occasion. I quickly changed into my workout clothes to go and teach a Zoom fitness class in my kitchen, ran down the stairs and past Dale who was frantically feeding Mia before they had to vacate the dining table so that I could teach, and shouted 'it's positive!' To which he replied 'here we go again!' as I logged into Zoom and taught, quite frankly, the most all over the place, scatty class in the history of fitness classes. 

I told very, very few people at this point. Of course, I promised myself I wouldn't tell anyone yet and had told one friend within about 15 hours of the test. My wonderfully kind and observant colleague noticed almost immediately that I had stopped drinking coffee and asked me what was wrong. Another asked me (very kindly) why I kept being so fuzzy headed, and then we went into lockdown from when I was about 13 weeks so I could hug my secret close for far longer than I'd imagined. I felt the first kick very, very early on (in a restaurant, when Dale and Mia had gone to the toilet, the night before lockdown came back in) and so promptly told the waitress who could not have cared less.  

Otherwise the announcement was quite late and, when we did tell people, with Mia wearing an 'I'm going to be a big sister' t-shirt, a disproportionate number of people misread it and said 'oh two girls, how wonderful.' 

Despite this regular reaction, I had no gut feeling this time. No voice in my head. Every time I pictured the baby in my head, I had two girls. Every time we saw a scan (which was a lot as I had to have regular monitoring) it was a boy. So we didn't find out this time. I had genuinely never, ever had a preference, only ever a feeling. I had a real pull that first time Emma had said 'the girls' about her dolls, and an equally strong feeling after falling in love with the boys I looked after, and then absolute certainty when I was pregnant with Mia. But never a preference. 

And, of course, it goes without saying that we now know that gender is far more complex and nuanced than we ever thought, but still, in our little world it was exciting. This little person was going to be the fourth corner to our square and we couldn't wait to get some glimpse into what role they may play. 

Then one boiling hot day, in early June, I had a midwife appointment in which I uttered the words 'I just need to have this baby now. Now.' Before calling Pumbaa, who had said any time I was fed up I was welcome to go and sit in her garden. I hung up on her at 3.14pm, having agreed that we might stay for dinner. 

Went for a wee. Arranged with Dale that he could walk to the shop in a little while and I'd pick him up on the way home. Put on my shoes, and Mia's shoes. Stepped out of the front door. 

Hm. That was a very sudden, very strong contraction. Braxton Hicks? 

Put Mia in the car. 

That was three very strong contractions. 

Had visions of being stuck at Pumbaa's, unable to drive home. Giving birth on her beautiful wooden floors. 

Asked Dale to drive me- quite sure by now that I was in labour but already plagued by guilt that Mia had been so excited to go on Pumbaa's daughter's cool slide, and already had had such a boring day waiting for the midwife appointment. 

Text Pumbaa, who quickly replied that she'd fill up the paddling pool ready to deliver the baby. Pumbaa's the nicest person in the world and would do anything for anyone, so to this day I don't know whether she was joking. 

By the time we arrived at her house, my app was telling me to go to hospital. 

We agreed that Dale would pop very quickly to the shop right next to Pumbaa's house, Mia could go down the slide, and then we'd go home. 

The next twenty minutes are a bit of a blur in my head. Sipping the ice cold water that Pumbaa had waiting for me. Telling the children they didn't need to fight over the green watering can, there was a purple one, why didn't they take it in turns? Pumbaa making me laugh through contractions (quite a feat) telling me stories about her family. Pumbaa's husband trying to make me laugh and me trying not to be rude but not actually being able to hear anyone anymore, so strong were the contractions. 

Getting in the car and breathing my way to my Happy Place as rehearsed through months of hypnobirthing practice. 

Home at 5.20pm.

My mum arriving and not quite realising just how far I was into labour- singing about popping the jolly kettle on whilst Dale tried to set up the birthing pool without knocking his mother-in-law out with the hose. 

My mum cottoning on to how far I was into labour when she called Labour Ward (and someone she knew answered- my mum knows everyone) and I was uncharacteristically sharp with her when she asked for my phone number (entirely forgetting in all the excitement that she has my number in her phone). 

Dale setting up our lounge for the dreamy birth we'd worked for 6 months for. 

The midwives arriving- the elation at seeing the same, wonderful midwife that had been at every single one of my appointments, including the one that afternoon. 

Dragging myself up the stairs to try and be sick, and being desperately jealous when I overheard my mum and Mia discussing how yummy their yoghurt was. Not being sick until I got back downstairs, and Dale having to catch it in our baking bowl before it went into the birthing pool. Vaguely and stupidly thinking that the cookie dough smell of the baking bowl is normally my favourite, but is the actual worst in labour. 

Vaguely and quite rightly thinking that although this was painful- it was labour- the breathing and candles and water and fairy-lights and Modern Family on the television was absolutely the dream, and I couldn't believe it was actually unfolding in the magical way I'd envisioned.  

Very clearly thinking that midwives are the very best of humankind. 

Climbing into the water. Turning off Modern Family and asking Alexa to play Colbie Caillat. 

Starting to read a letter written especially for this moment for me by my friend Minnie Mouse, reading the line 'you are so incredible and you can do this' before the contractions ramped up and I watched it fall, in slow motion, to the floor. 

Those lines going over and over in my head. You are so incredible and you can do this. 

The midwife instructing me to hold her eye contact, and to listen to her when she tells me I can do this. 

Feeling every thought disappear, even of my Happy Place, and following my instinct to push, confused about why I would be getting that feeling so early on in labour. Whispering 'ohmygoodness it's the baby's head. The baby's head is out' in disbelief. Asking what happens next. 

The midwife calmly explaining that they'd known that was going to be the head and they were totally ready. That on the next contraction I was to push the baby out, that the midwife would push the baby back between my legs, and I could then pick them up out of the water and cuddle them. 

The midwife calling to Dale to come down- he'd nipped upstairs to check on Mia (and, hilariously, change into his comfy shorts) - that the baby was about to be here. 

That contraction coming, the relief of the baby arriving, the magic of lifting them from the water myself. 

The midwives reminding me that I could now find out who that fourth corner of our square was. The first piece of the puzzle as to who they might be. Another little girl. 

My mum and Mia coming straight in so that Mia could meet her sister at last. 

The look on Mia's face- the best face she has ever made. 

The magic of the midwives telling us that she had arrived at 7.44pm; Mia had arrived at 7.44am. 

Being able to shower in my own bathroom, get into my jammies, have peanut butter on toast on my own sofa before climbing into my own bed with all four corners of our family unit. 

Waking up with them next to us. 

Our Girls. My Girls. The Girls. 

Not Mia and Talia and but Mia and Millie. 

Amelie Isabella Stark. Born calmly and happily in our precious, fairy light clad lounge, to the sound of Colbie Caillat and the scent of a Lily Flame Blush candle, on a warm evening in June, less than three hours after I'd been sitting in Pumbaa's garden sipping ice cold water and laughing at her stories. 

What a start, Millie. 

Now every now and then I have a little moment where I'll say something like 'my mum's having the girls whilst I pop to the bank' and I feel like it's 1998 again, and I'm on the driveway with Emma, my brother's old buggy, and saying grown up things I've overheard other people say. 

It always has been my favourite game. 

Edgar Charles George Lund

On Wednesday 1st January 2020, my Grandad Ed died, aged ninety-five years old.

What an absolute hero.

He made it all the way from 1924 to 2020, and he did so with determination, wisdom, and a fantastic sense of humour to the very end.

We've been talking about him a lot recently- because I imagine we always will, of course- but also because a) he was exceptionally wise and would have had something very sensible to say about the planet right now and b) he flipping loved a jigsaw, and they seem to have become a bigger feature in my world in the past week or so.

One of my favourite stories about him is the one about the time he tore the house apart looking for the missing piece of his puzzle, only for one of his neighbours to pop in for a cup of tea a few days later and confess to taking it as a joke.

At his funeral, the most amazing woman spoke beautifully about his life, and told a couple of stories I hadn't heard before. Since then, I've also spoken to my cousins and brothers and parents, and asked them to share their favourite stories in an attempt to get them all together on one page, and paint a picture of this wonderful man...

1) One of my favourite ever conversations with him went like this...

"Your brother seems very happy with his girlfriend. Everyone's being very vague about how they met though. Can you tell me once and for all. How did they meet?"

"Well," I began, wondering where exactly to begin with explaining Tinder to a ninety-one year old, "on the internet."

I stopped there, thinking that would do for today's lesson.

"Right," he replied, seeming to take it all in. "You must have some real issues if you've got to turn to the internet to find a girl, haven't you?"

He then continued to ask me this question every single time I saw him for the next few months. He didn't have a memory loss issue. He was just delighted with that punchline.

2) Absolutely everyone that I asked for stories from commented on his little sayings. He always called us 'duck' (until I was about 14 I thought my nickname was dup- never even occurred to me to question it), called my brothers 'urchins' (and my brother found out today that he was calling him an urchin and not an urchant, which is not a thing) and he always followed up goodbye with 'don't do anything I wouldn't do, and if you do, don't get caught.' And a very cheeky smile.

3) The first time he met my brother's (twenty year old) girlfriend, he told her 'you're lovely- if only I were ten years younger'. It really made her laugh and relaxed her with a new family. And speaking of meeting relatives...

4) My Nanny Eileen- Grandad Ed's wife- always used to tell the story of the first time she met his grandmother. She said 'I'm sure I won't meet you again.'

Firstly- can you imagine saying that to someone?! Secondly, my grandparents were then married for 58 years. What a brilliant way to prove her wrong.

5) My Grandad's favourite story to tell was about the day of his first date with Nanny Eileen. She was late. She was so very late, that he was about to leave. He vowed that he'd wait for one more bus, and then he'd go. I worked out recently that there are no less than twenty-five people who would never have been born had she not been on that bus. Magical.

6) My memory is that we always had the most incredible food at Nanny and Grandad's house. There were always cakes and biscuits, we always had the best breakfast there if we had a sleepover, and in my mind 9 out of 10 visits involved a prawn cocktail (but the 9 year old in me is probably exaggerating that). My cousins, who are older and wiser, assure me that Grandad's barbecued sausages were always burnt but everybody ate them anyway. Another cousin pointed out that the biscuit tin was always full but you never saw a packet of biscuits, let alone anyone hastily refilling the tin.

7) My eldest cousin, who was always the most sensible of her siblings (as we eldest children naturally are), told me of memories of playing wheelbarrow races in the garden but never, ever going near the flowers. Her younger sisters told me stories of moving all his garden gnomes and then being told off for being little minxes. This was a revelation to me because 1) I never, ever saw him remotely cross. Not even once, and 2) Despite never seeing him cross, I would never have dreamed of playing up for him. I did once whisper to my little brother to ask if we could have a sweet (they had sweets in little dishes everywhere) and my Nanny told me in a clipped, Mary-Poppins style voice that I should ask for myself in future. That was as scary as they ever got.

8) He loved his shed. He built sledges, rabbit hutches, rocking horses, wendy houses, beds, shelving units...you name it, he made it in that shed. It was his haven, and another place that one of his cheeky granddaughters liked to go. Forbidden territory.

9) He didn't talk about the war really, unless you asked very specific questions- then he talked sadly about friends he lost. I once asked him what on earth he did when the war was over. 'Got very, very drunk', he replied, to my absolute delight.

10) My Grandad had the most incredible relationship with his children. I was struck recently by just how special his relationship with my auntie's husband was- the level of love that my uncle showed for someone he is related to by marriage. When I voiced this to my Grandma- from the other side of my family- she told me she always remembers being struck by how close they were the first time she saw them together in the eighties, when my Grandad told my uncle, with a laugh in his voice, to f*** off. Takes a real level of closeness to speak to your son in law like that. Funny show of love, but definitely a show of love, nonetheless.

11) I had the one and only sensible conversation about Brexit and Trump, post-votes, that I ever had, with my Grandad Ed. I won't share what was said, but what he said was calm, considered, and wise, and it shed some light onto opinions I had been unable to understand. It was also magical to see the lightbulb go on his mind when I explained my thoughts.

12) Mia and I once had the most wonderful morning with him at his house when she was a few months old. He watched Mia in absolute awe which- for someone who's had three kids and around five million grandchildren- was really special. He told me that he was always at work when his wife and children were at home during the day, and that it was lovely to see it from this side- to see what happened whilst he was at work.

13) He and my Nanny always waved everyone off at the door with their arms around each other, until we were completely out of sight. Even after 58 years of marriage. It always stayed with me as one of the most romantic things ever to happen. After my Nanny's funeral, someone said to my Grandad 'he really got the essence of Eileen, didn't he? The speaker?' And Grandad replied 'I had the essence of her.' Probably the most romantic and most heartbreaking words ever uttered.

So to our wonderful Edgar Charles George Lund. We are all so very aware of how lucky we are to have had you in our lives, and I, along with the many, many people you had a magical impact on,  will continue to live on with your wise words in our heads, and your cheeky smile in our souls.

I won't do anything you wouldn't do, I promise.

And if I do, I won't get caught :)

The Big Three Oh

Yesterday was my 30th birthday.

Having got myself into such a pickle about turning 20, I was determined to just be excited about The Big Three Oh, and I am.

I just can't believe it.

Shouldn't I have sorted out my eyebrows by now? Shouldn't I have worked out how to keep a clean house, and how to see my friends enough, and have read The Catcher in the Rye and How to Kill a Mockingbird? (It's actually a great source of shame that I haven't read them, but I always think 'I will just after this Clare Mackintosh one...')

I did have a little wobble when a photo popped up on my Facebook memories a few days ago of a birthday cake with the number 20 on it. It suddenly hit me that it's ten years since I turned 20.  I'm ten years older than a twenty year old. Then this morning my friend sent me photos of my 20th birthday celebrations. The main thing we've learned from them is her husband looked young when he was 20.

I had another little wobble when everyone was singing happy birthday to me yesterday.

Not a wobble, as such. Just another thwack of realisation. And actually, a lot of gratitude.

My family had organised the most incredible cake (courtesy of Dinkylicious Cakes- the extraordinarily talented Debbie Roe who made one of our wedding cakes and blows us away at every special occasion) and had gone to such lengths to keep it a surprise that I believe my Mum was dangerously close to having a hernia. My brother's girlfriend (a true source of joy for the whole family) was holding my giggling daughter; my mum had her Proud Face on and her camera out; my husband was grinning whilst he sang- having faffed about worrying about how many candles to use. My Dad sang enthusiastically- relieved, I imagine, that the Secret Cake had finally been revealed, and my mum's husband turned the lights off too early so we were all milling around in the dark making silly noises. The cake was chocolate all the way through, with Reese's peanut butter cups around the edge and white chocolate flowers on top- I mean, just the perfect cake for me. I was so impressed that they knew what my perfect cake would be.

(Although Mowgli, I've just realised, insisted he thought that Reese's peanut butter cups were Dale's favourites- not mine. So he has clearly never read my blog before ha.)

Anyway, it was just about perfect, and I thought, yep. This is me at 30. And that is absolutely fine.

I spent the day with my friends yesterday, and found myself using the phrase 'if there's one thing I've learned in my twenties...' and hearing myself say that inspired me to write (a very basic, I'm no Dolly Alderton) list of things I know now that I've made it through my third decade...

1) Instinct is underrated. You can read all the books, write all the lists, and tick all the boxes until you're blue in the face. Ultimately, whatever your instinct is telling you to do is most likely the correct decision. I was once offered a job as a Nanny that was perfect on paper- everything I had been looking for. I spoke to the mother on the phone for about 10 minutes and knew that it wasn't for me. Something about the way she described her child unnerved me. All the other Nanny jobs I've ever had I have absolutely loved, and I will hold those families in my heart forever more. All of those parents had said 'here's the thing about (insert child's name here), she's funny and she's kind and you'll have so much fun, but we need someone who's willing to be patient with her being a nightmare with food/hating the bath/kicking off about homework etc. This mother told me that her child was perfect. Genuinely used that word. I ended up covering for them just for a weekend whilst they sorted alternative childcare out. I'll just leave it that it was the right decision to turn it down.

I've since applied this lesson to everything from which wedding dress to buy to how to parent and who to hire, and I continue to trust it implicitly.

2) Removing your make up and drinking enough water are the best things you can make sure you do every day. Such a pain but between them they are more or less the answer to everything.

3) Flossing is your friend. Fillings are flipping awful.

4) You never know what's going to happen next. And I don't mean that none of us predicted Madonna going over during her Brit Awards performance. Or even Brexit or Trump. Or Lord Sugar throwing caution to the wind and hiring 2 winners of The Apprentice in 2017.

When I was 26 I saw a medium who said that she didn't think anyone would come through for me because I was so young. Everyone that came through was for me.

I had to say a premature goodbye to a lot of people in my twenties, and a lot of unexpected things went down. I don't suppose it should have taken that happening for me to realise just how short and cruel life can be, but we're all better at understanding these things once they've happened to us. We never know what is about to happen and should be grateful for every single day. Easier said than done, I know.

5) I should always keep my hair one length. Hairdressers always want to add layers and feathers and all sorts, and I've finally learnt to stick to my guns and say no thank you. 

Yesterday I was tagged in a lot of old photos. I asked Dale how one person has possibly had so many truly awful hair cuts. He immediately replied 'oh dear, fringe gate?' Actually, no. Nobody had tagged me in any fringe photos. Thanks for bringing it up though, honey.

6) An excellent trick for dealing with difficult people is to pause time. My youngest brother and I have often commented on how well and truly sheltered we were growing up in a small village in rural Essex until we were 18. We so rarely had to deal with difficult people before we were in our 20s, which means that this time has been a true learning curve. My wonderfully wise friend Jiminy Cricket once told me to take a deep breath, and imagine I had just paused time to punch them and then turned time back on, and they were none the wiser. I cannot tell you how many difficult conversations this has got me through. This, and remembering to....

7) Always, always, always be kind. There's actually a lot of satisfaction to be gained in being kind to people who aren't always kind to you. And, although it's always something I'm working on, it's satisfying for me to know that I'm always trying my best. I have every faith that if ever anyone is less than kind to me, there's a reason behind it that has nothing to do with me at all. On many occasions I've later found out what that reason was and been relieved to know that I dealt with it the way I did.

8) Say no. It doesn't have to be a big, scary NO. Just a gentle no thank you is absolutely fine. We all have too much going on to be wasting our time on things that make us miserable. I heard a wonderful podcast with Sarah Millican in which she changed her voice from NO to no thank you and the power of it has stayed with me.

9) It's okay to disagree. Again, this one is a work in progress for me. I have always had an awful habit of agreeing with people for the sake of saving an argument. Sometimes I walk away from a conversation absolutely furious with myself for saying something I don't believe in. It's like somebody else takes over my mouth for a few minutes, whilst I hover above my body, horrified at what's being said. I'm gradually learning that it's important to disagree with people- that's how you change opinions, or have your opinion changed. If disagreeing with someone is going to affect your relationship with someone, they probably weren't worth having around in the first place.

10) There's no such thing as good and bad people. Absolutely everyone is a mix of both, and things aren't always as straight forward as they seem. I had this epiphany listening to the song I Didn't Plan It, from Waitress, and I highly recommend listening to it and the rest of the soundtrack. And going to see it. And taking all your friends and family to see it.

People do things for different reasons, and judgement isn't always (or ever) helpful. My brother recently said to me that being with his ever patient and exceptionally accepting girlfriend has made him realise how 'opinionated' we are. I think by opinionated he meant judgemental. But that's another thing I'm very much working on. It turns out that things aren't always black and white, we don't always have all the facts, and the world doesn't revolve around us.

11) Wipe down the large surfaces. Don't worry about anything else.

I recently casually commented to Pumbaa's mum that we've got potential viewers looking at the flat at the moment, so I've also got to keep it immaculate at all times. I'd said that to loads of people, but she was the first person not to nod her head and say 'oh, what a pain.' She immediately shook her head and said 'nope, absolutely not. What that means is you've got to wipe down the large surfaces. That's all. Don't worry about anything else.'

Guess what?

I took her advice, and it still sold.

12) It's the little things that count. A friend and I were chatting recently about the pressure of trying your best at everything, of spending every second wisely, of doing everything you can. I realised that the happiest bit of my week is curling up with Dale and Squirt on a Saturday morning and watching an episode of Designated Survivor. It's the only hour of the week that I'm not achieving anything, and it's my favourite. My favourite part of the day is normally someone making me laugh. Good customer service brings me a lot of joy. There's very little a cup of coffee can't fix. Chats with my Grandma and memes from Jiminy Cricket tend to warm my heart. A phone call from my Mum. Absolutely anything that any of my cousins say. All Squirt's little facial expressions. Dale's singing. Pumbaa's 2 year old singing A Million Dreams at the top of his passionate voice. They're what matter.

So, my thirties have begun, and I have spent the first day of them in my jogging bottoms, writing, and watching Aladdin.

Speaking of which, my three wishes for my thirties are to remain happy and healthy (yes, that counts as one), to learn to worry less about what other people think (I'm told that comes by the time you're 40?) and to learn to be on time every now and then.

But for the minute, this is me at 30. And that is absolutely fine.

Mamma Mia! Here I go again....

"Oh gosh no, I'm not dreading turning 30 at all. I'm looking forward to it, if anything. I got myself in such a state about turning 20, I am not doing that with turning 30. No I'm not. No way. My twenties were amazing, as will my thirties be.'

Oh for the heady days of being aged twenty-nine years and one week old.

Now, of course, I'm twenty-nine years and two months old, and so am having an absolute meltdown about my next birthday.

No I'm exaggerating.

But as time goes on that little voice is starting to creep into my ear.

It's the same voice that tends to make an appearance around New Year's Eve. Did you do enough this year? Have you got good enough plans for next year? And are they actually achievable? 

Now what the sensible voice from age twenty-nine and one week said was this:

1) My twenties have been incredible. They have been everything I wanted and more. There were plenty of times I thought (and was told) that there was no way I could do all the jobs abroad that I wanted to do and end up in a good job at home at the end of it. The fact that I managed to do it- and that I ticked off every country and every job including one in Disney World- is nothing short of absolutely amazing. I am proud and grateful, and changed. I have learnt so, so much in my twenties and can't wait to see what fun and life lessons lie in wait for my thirties.

2) I am incredibly lucky to have made it to twenty-nine years and two months old. There are so many who aren't reaching this milestone with me, or who perhaps had but won't see their next decade, whatever that may have been. If nothing else, my twenties have taught me the difficult lesson of life's fragility, and I should be (and trust me, am) grateful for every single day that I wake up healthy and happy.

However. In the seven weeks that have passed since that sensible voice, several things have happened.

1) I've realised I'm turning thirty. 

I'm not kidding. Or pretending. Or playing grown ups.

I really am going to be thirty. That proper grown up age.

The age that my mum was when she moved her husband and three children into the comfy house that I grew up in. The decade that my mum was in when I finished my A levels and went to university. 

I recently started a new job, and as it's part time and involves working with lots of younger colleagues, I had naturally assumed that everyone would think I was also their age.

How funny. I thought. Nobody here would ever know I'd had a baby. They probably all think I'm seventeen or eighteen like the others. 

The very first person I met (who, I should mention, was seven years old) genuinely asked me Rebecca are you well into your thirties or just a bit? 

Since then I've been asked many, many similar questions, with one child outright asking me so were you born in 1989? (For those of you less confident in maths, yes I was, and yes, it's hilarious and scary in equal measures that a nine year old knew that by looking at my face.)

After one such comment, I came home and looked in the mirror and was shocked to find a twenty-nine year old looking back. How and when that happened I do not know.

2) I've realised that the real grown ups that I know are the same age as me. 

I always assume that the other mums at baby groups who have husbands and houses and baby bags and nice eyebrows and look like they've got their lives together aren't pretending at being grown ups like me, they are actual grown ups.

Then I'll get talking to them and they'll casually mention that they turned thirty earlier this year, or are looking forward to it next year. Or they'll add me on Instagram and be michellejohnson92 and I'll realise they're younger than me.

But that's because I really am their age. And I have a husband and a home and a baby bag (I'm foregoing the nice eyebrows at the moment but perhaps they will miraculously sort themselves out before the big day) and probably look, from the outside, a bit grown up too.

3)  I watched Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again.

This really was the turning point, to be honest.

If you haven't seen it yet I must warn you that it is very much about the passing of time so I'd take your tissues and allow ten minutes at the end for quiet sobbing.

According to the film release dates, I'm almost exactly the same age as Sophie- the main character.

She was twenty when the first film came out, and so would be thirty now (in the film they implied she's only twenty five but, whatever, Amanda Seyfried who plays her has aged ten years which is sort of my point) and when she first appeared on the screen I felt a huge rush of realisation about just how much you change in your twenties. 

Not only did she look ten years older (and a lot better, which I think is the general rule no matter what mainstream media will have you believe), it struck me that the excitable, squealy ball of energy from the first film had been replaced with a strong, considered and able woman in the second, and I couldn't help feeling (and hoping) that watching myself back in 2008 and then now would have the same effect.

And that's when I started to feel overwhelmed by the whole thing.

Then the film only went on and on and on about time passing and things changing (just to be clear I absolutely loved the film, it just made me an emotional wreck) and by the end of it I had reverted more or less to the sentimental mess I was about turning 20.

Since then I've thought a lot about how I've changed in my twenties, and about what they've held for me, and I had a moment today sitting with two friends that I met when I was sixteen, and the five children that we have between us, just unable to believe that we have known each other that long. That we have lived so much of our lives together.

Where does the time go?

The other day I brought this up with my ninety-three year old Grandad.

If I feel like time is flashing by and I can't believe my age, how on earth must he feel?

You just can't explain it duck. I don't have the answers I'm afraid. I don't know where that time's gone. I can't believe it, really. 

Me neither.

And for as long as I can remember I've been told to enjoy every moment. To make the most of it, because it won't always be like this. It won't be this fun in secondary school. At college. At university. In the real world. Once you have kids. Once your babies are older. 

And I'm not complaining about that advice. I actually think that advice has made me good at it- good at enjoying every second and not taking anything for granted.

But on the other hand, at milestones like this- that make me overthink the passing of time and want to slow it down- that advice can be overwhelming, because there is nothing I can do. Time passes. And no amount of gratitude or wisdom can change that. If it could be done, I have every faith that my Grandad would have discovered how at some point in the past ninety-three and a half years.

When I was obsessed with turning twenty, I listened to the song Stop This Train by John Mayer on repeat for the entire year- a song about exactly this moment.

And I would replay the same lines in my mind over and over:

Had a talk with my old man
Said help me understand
He said turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate 

Don't stop this train. 
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
Don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
Honestly. We'll never stop this train. 

But of course, it's never about the age anyway. It's not about the number. 18, 40, 92, New Year's Eve. It's not about how many years have passed since the day you were born, it's about the reminder that time is passing. That things won't always be like they are right now, and that some things that have happened will never happen again.

That it's moving all the time and there's nothing we can do about it.

So as far as I can see the answer seems to be to embrace it.

Continue to enjoy every moment- to find joy in the little things, to make the most of every day. And by make the most of every day I don't mean jump out of planes or go scuba diving (not every day, anyway). I mean- read and write. Savour that first sip of coffee. Enjoy the way Dale wakes up with more enthusiasm than your average Labrador. Take note of the way Squirt looks carefully at which piece of food she's going to pick up in her little pincers and chooses it with relish. Laugh at my cousins or grandparents or the kids I work with until my sides hurt.

Appreciate everything my twenties brought me, and appreciate the person that it's made me.

And look forward to all of the adventures and life lessons to come.

Without, for a minute, wanting to change the place I'm in.

(Except perhaps in the cinema watching Mamma Mia 2. I don't think I can put myself through that again.)

Brighter than the Sun

It has been ten months and five days since I got married.

Somehow I have let that time go by without writing about the wedding. I wrote a post about the night before the night before my wedding, promising that it would be the only post I'd ever write about it. I was wary of being boring, of parading my wedding in front of everyone's faces as though they should care.

Since then, though, a couple of things have happened. Firstly- I had a truly lovely reaction to the one post I did write about the upcoming wedding, and a few readers did comment that they hoped I would write at least one post about the day. Secondly- I realised that I love reading about, hearing about, and seeing pictures of other people's weddings.

So here's your warning: this post is for a very specific type of person; one who enjoys hearing about other people's weddings. If that sounds boring to you, this post is not for you. Please return to scrolling and tagging (and let me know if you have any ideas about what I can write that will interest you! Always open to suggestions.)

Finally, I realised that since becoming a mum I have lost my ability to remember things. (I had a total freak out a few weeks ago about a family member's name. It just didn't look right on the card and I was terrified I'd send it and they'd wonder why on earth I'd got their name wrong. Mortifying.) So I thought that if it turns out I'm the only person who likes reading about weddings then at least I'll enjoy reading it back in the future, and hopefully it'll help me preserve some of the finer details that may eventually escape me.

Dale and I got married on Monday 26th June 2017. (I'm hoping he'll read this and perhaps use it as a reference for our anniversary. He's asked me at least three times if I have any idea why he's got the date booked off work this year.)

The Venue

We were set on having a small, laidback, fun wedding that people didn't need to stress about and that really had very little feeling of formal about it.

I'm not the greatest with formal occasions, I'm not in any way fancy, I don't love a high heel and don't get me started on those teeny posh portions of food.

(Plus Dale hates a fascinator. He honestly feels passionately about very little, and I can only recall seeing him truly angry twice in our five years together. But mention a fascinator and smoke starts pumping out of his ears and his eyes roll back in his head. Seriously.)

When I explained to people that we were looking for a highly relaxed, easy going day without anything too fancy quite a few mentioned that we should have a look at West Street Vineyard in Coggeshall.

What.A.Find.

We saw it, we loved it, and I wish I could say we booked it here because that would flow beautifully. We didn't. It all seemed a bit too easy and we wondered whether we just loved it because it was the first one we'd seen. (Something I did when we were first looking at flats together and naming our baby. Fortunately Dale was there to rein me in. I more or less wailed 'Oh look, her name's Alex!' as the umbilical cord was cut. An Alex she is not.)

So we viewed a more posh place just to put our minds at ease. (And by we, I mean me and my friend Dumbo went and reported back to Dale.)

It was lovely, truly. And I do totally understand people having grand weddings in fancy pants places. We were shown around by the most immaculate human being I have ever met. Her name was Juliet. She spoke in hushed tones as she showed us the honeymoon suite, and in a suitably romantic voice the rest of the way around. Pressed skirt suit. Blonde hair in a perfect knot at the nape of her neck. Perfectly applied lipstick that didn't budge as she sipped her tea. I was ready to book it just so that I could say that she planned my wedding. I know it would have been perfect if she had.

But there was no flexibility.

There were three packages. You chose one. Juliet put it on for you.

Whereas the dream at West Street was that they're not a wedding venue. They're a vineyard. And they happen to hold weddings. There are no packages, no pre-set plans.

Whatever you want.

My little dream.

The Morning of the Big Day 

On the morning of the wedding I woke up at 7am, feeling like I'd had seventeen coffees and a couple of gins, and cleaned the entire flat. No idea why. It wasn't on any of the itineraries that I'd printed and stuck up in every room. It's what I do when I'm jittery, I suppose.

My mum had stayed the night before and my friends arrived at 10am. (They threw confetti over me and shouted congratulations as I opened the door. Sounds like a little thing but it was so magical.) Much to my delight the sun was out with its fascinator already sparkling on its bright little head, so we all walked over to Bill's where we sat outside for breakfast (that's my favourite restaurant, not one of the characters in my life), and they gave us a courtesy bottle of prosecco to say congratulations. (Again, a little thing. But those little sprinkles of magic really do make a difference.)

 The Look 

I had my makeup done by Carla from TeamGlam. She had done my makeup when I was a bridesmaid for Minnie Mouse and I knew I could have absolute faith that if I woke up looking tired/having a bad skin day/had chicken pox she would make me look the absolute best I possibly could. She's nothing short of a miracle worker and she's just so nice. (At one point she was on her hands and knees under my dress doing my shoes up. I'm fairly sure that's not in her job description. She's just amazing. I vaguely recall her painting my mum's nails as well. I may have made that bit up.)

My hairdresser Jade at Rush in Chelmsford did my hair and my mum's (she did a super job as always), and my nails were done by Nail Envy Radlett (who also always does a super job and never charges me enough.)

We had Emma from In A Flash photography take our beautiful photos. Emma also kept a couple of participants in our wedding who shall not be named in check and for that I shall forever be grateful. She was a real voice for me (I'm a people pleaser and would have let all sorts happen but she was wonderful and made sure everything went my way)- what a star.

The details of my dress shall forever remain a secret but the style inspiration came from my wonderful day on Say Yes to the Dress. Highly recommend applying to go on it if you're looking for your wedding dress. Absolutely brilliant. (And sure, watch my episode. I've watched it now, I'm not embarrassed. My Essex accent is ever so slightly stronger than I had realised but otherwise it's quite a good watch.)

On my feet I wore flat sandals from Accessorize. They were a little dream. I like to think that if I was Beyoncé I'd still have worn those shoes. No chance of falling up the aisle (or during the conga) and I managed to keep them on all night.

The Wedding Party

We had such a small wedding that every single guest was a member of the wedding party. We chose to have no top table, no best man, no adult bridesmaids, no evening guests. There were fifty five of us altogether. Dale's five year old niece was a bridesmaid, and his nephews, aged seven and two, were the ring bearers. My brother Mowgli was an usher, Chip did a reading with Dale's sister, and my Dad and Uncle did speeches. Our mums were our witnesses.

The Theme

Our theme was Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan. Having met in the UK pavilion at Epcot in Walt Disney World we wanted it to be British and Disney themed, so we decided to go for a mash up of the two stories. It was (of course) sophisticated, subtle Disney- I think sometimes when I say we had a Disney themed wedding people immediately picture a nightmare from Don't Tell The Bride. It wasn't. It was beautiful. 

We were lucky enough to have the most incredible florist, Adele Hudgell, who just could not do enough for us and somehow, despite my distinct lack of knowledge about flowers and truly poor attempts at describing what I wanted, she had exactly the same vision of elegant, understated Disney, and she did the most amazing job. 

(Apart from being an incredible florist, Adele is the actual and literal definition of loveliness. So much so, in fact, that when another friend was telling me about her wedding and said 'our florist is the nicest person I've ever met'- that's all she said, nothing about location, name, experience, nothing- I said 'no way have you got Adele?') 

We did a lot of themed stuff ourselves (sweetie bag favours, table plan display, themed items to go on tables) but were lucky enough to bag two wonderful cake makers to make more of my imagination become reality. Sarah Underwood (who is also my best pal) did our Peter Pan cake, and Debbie at Dinkylicious Cakes made our Alice one. They were both delicious (we had our official honeymoon before the wedding so the majority of our post-wedding honeymoon was spent eating cake) and looked amazing. 

The Big Moment 

Having spent the entire journey from Chelmsford to Coggeshall taking selfies with my Dad and just unable to believe that the bride smiling back was me, we drove up and down the road quite a few times because, according to the venue our guests were not behaving (I never got to the bottom of what that meant but I did see two pals running up the road toward the vineyard on our third round trip so my guess is that what they meant by that is they're not all here.)

I had my getting out of the car photos and was ushered inside the restaurant and upstairs to confirm that I was definitely up for being Mrs Stark and that I really was 28 (took quite a lot of joy from the fact that the registrar just couldn't believe I was so old).

I feel quite choked up thinking about the next bit. Which is ridiculous because at the time I wasn't choked up at all.

My Dad and I practised walking around the room a bit (still convinced I was going to fall over) then the venue manager came in and told me it was time to go. 


I should say here that there were so many maybes about this day. In my determination not to get caught up in the details that couldn't be controlled I had barely even dared to imagine everything going as it should. 

I had really, really wanted our friend Gloria to sing as I walked down the aisle. She is easily the most talented singer I've ever met in real life and the thought of having someone as incredible as that at my wedding just seemed too good to be true. 

But Dale asked. She said yes. 

Then we had such a nightmare getting the correct equipment, getting the equipment insured...oh I can't even remember what else it was about now. I'm sure at some point they needed proof that my mum's dog was born in 2008 otherwise Gloria wasn't going to be allowed to sing. 

We didn't know whether the ring bearers (Dale's nephews) would walk down the aisle or whether it would end up just being his niece. We didn't know whether we would be able to get married outside or if the weather would prevent us. We hadn't known until very last minute whether my dress would still fit me. We didn't know that my strict instructions for how to lay everything out would be clear enough, or even possible. 

Then in this moment, as I rounded the corner, I felt like time stopped for a moment. 


The sun was shining and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. In front of me were all our guests, and in front of them, was Gloria. Singing. She had this flower crown on her head and this gorgeous jumpsuit and she was singing the song I had picked out to walk down the aisle to the moment I had realised I would marry Dale one day. I was wearing my dress, and Dale was here looking all handsome in his suit, and his sister's three children were walking in front of me and I just felt the most incredible happiness. 

I will never be able to believe how lucky we were to have all those uncontrollable things fall into place. It was probably the best moment of my life so far and definitely the best moment of the day. 

The Food 

To fit in with our British and Informal theme we skipped the starters and had sausage and mash for mains with sticky toffee pudding for dessert. 

It was mainly just convenient that my favourite meal is British and Informal. Just like me. 

At the ceremony we had provided party bags with sweets and crisps in (as well as Alice style giant playing cards with photo suggestions on them and little fans and bubbles- which were such a hit, highly recommend fans if you're getting married on a potentially hot day), and then later in the evening we had sweet potato fries and cake. So much super food. 

The Entertainment

As I mentioned above, Gloria sang during the ceremony. 

I walked down the aisle to I Choose You by Sara Bareilles, we signed the register to Brighter than the Sun and Falling For You by Colbie Caillat, and we walked back up the aisle together to Dreams Come True by Hall and Oates. All sung beautifully by Gloria. 

My brother and Dale's sister read a shorter, more wedding friendly version of Oh the Places You'll Go by Dr Seuss which is my absolute, number one favourite book ever, and just so fitting for every single adventure you'll ever go on. 

During the reception drinks we had Dave Lucas from Drop Dead Caricatures wandering round drawing people (he was spot on with all of them. Even managed to get the cheekiness in my Grandad's eyes) and giant garden games from gardengameshireuk.com dotted about for people to play. Again, thank you sunshine, I'd have been devastated if we couldn't have used those. They were such a hit as well- I'd highly recommend them. I felt that I was taking a bit of a chance on those but a couple of people wrote in our guest book that they were the highlight of the day. We also had a photo booth set up (just a basket of mainly Peter and Alice themed clothing items and a big frame) which resulted in so much fun and lots of fab photos. 

My entertainment highlight though was the secret singing waiters. I would love to tell you exactly what they did and how they did it but I won't talk about it at all because I'd hate to say anything that would mean you'd spot them if you were ever a guest at one of their events. All I'll say is that we hired Silver Service Singers, they were a big hit with every single guest from two year old Quinn to 92 year old Grandad Ed, and that it was worth booking them and keeping the secret just to see the look on my dad's face when he realised what was going on. Another life highlight there, I think. 

They then stayed to do the first hour of music. (First dance: Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon because that's what was playing when I first knew I'd marry Dale. Plus it's just a great song.) After that first hour we just put our own playlist on which was perfect. 

The party was downstairs in the basement of the vineyard which had been decorated with a light up dance floor, fairy lights in jars everywhere and big balloons dotted about; but the upstairs was still open with comfy chairs, and the balcony was strung with fairy lights too so a lot of our guests ended up sitting outside under blankets with big cups of tea, whilst others were downstairs dancing to Mr Brightside and other hits. 

I was planning on doing another section here called 'magical moments'- there are just so many throughout the day that you don't plan and desperately don't want to forget. Two year old Quinn interrupting the 'I do' moment to give his uncle a packet of biscuits. My friend Minnie Mouse jumping out of her skin when the singing waiter started singing right behind her. My friend Simba just being such a hit in his kilt and his huge smile that people are still mentioning it now. My brother's girlfriend singing Let It Go into the microphone. The speeches. The moment that Dale and I just stopped and watched, and saw Mary-who-used-to-be-my-manager-in-education laughing and cheering Simba-who-I-worked-with-at-The-Lion-King to beat Julia-from-work at giant snakes and ladders. It was just everything I had wanted. 

But I imagine you've finished your cup of tea by now and probably need to crack on so I'll keep the rest of those magical extras to myself. 

But honestly, the best thing about that day- besides the obvious (that I married the best human on the planet)- was having all those people that I love so much all together, at once, smiling for a whole day.