Reader, I married him

So I got married then.

In case you were wondering, this has been the reason behind my radio silence over the past few weeks. Lord knows I attempted to create culinary wonders to post on here, yet my pre-wedding nerves led to them dissolving into huge piles of fail. Take, for example, the swiss roll I attempted to make the Mr. for his birthday. I over-whipped the cream on my first try, leading me to layer my sponge with something which was more akin to watery butter than any recognisable creamy treat. The second attempt was such a disaster that I ended up waving a glass of whisky at it while crying and watching it slowly collapse all over my washing machine. Thankfully, I am now able to see the funny side of this situation, even if I have yet to remove all of the remnants of the strawberry jam from underneath the spin drum.

Weddings do strange things to your brain. In the months leading up to mine, I was convinced that I wouldn’t fall prey to all of the neurosis’s that afflict brides. I pledged to be sanguine, rational, the very picture of calm. And then August rolled around and I turned into a shaking, stuttering wreck. Stress turned my mind into  marshmallow fluff. I lost my appetite and woke up craving cigarettes – despite the fact that I stopped smoking in 2007. I had anxiety dreams which involved me walking down the aisle wearing nothing but a vintage Manchester City shirt and a bright orange tutu. On the Monday prior to the big day, I found myself running laps around the perimeter of my office in an attempt to calm myself the fuck down. My life had suddenly turned into a bad RomCom, albeit one where the bride chugged red wine out of the bottle at 6am while watching Great British Bake Off the morning of her wedding.

Me and my father. Copyright: Charlotte McDermott

And then my wedding day rolled around and everything went brilliantly (well, if you ignore the fact that my truly beautiful shoes nearly crippled me numerous times, and I accidentally managed to smother my husband in bright red lipstick when I kissed him to seal the deal). My bridesmaids Charlotte, Kate and Kathy provided me with moral support, amazing porridge, a ridiculous amount of Prosecco and stupid YouTube videos featuring Nic Cage to prevent me bursting into tears and ruining my carefully applied make-up. And while my facial expression while walking down the aisle was more ‘pant shitting terror’ than ‘blushing bride’, getting married to the man I love more than anyone else in the world was genuinely one of the best moments of my life. 

Cutting the Cake. Copyright: Fong Chau

Naturally, I wouldn’t have done it without a whole heap of folks helping me out and keeping me sane along the way. So, like a weeping Oscar winner, allow me to thank all of the brilliant people and suppliers who made my wedding day so amazing.

• The Athenaeum on School Lane were absolutely brilliant. Nothing was too much hassle for them, even when I ran in there sweaty and panicking the day before just to check one last time  that our MP3 player would work with their AV system. We got married in their private library, and (if you’re a massive literature geek like myself and Mr. McMc) I could think of no better place in Liverpool in which to get hitched.
• Leaf on Bold Street provided us with a giant dancefloor, huge squishy sofas, piles of food for our guests to feast upon when they wanted a break from dancing badly to Fleetwood Mac, and truly brilliant service. There are far too many pictures of me twirling around in my wedding dress in their toilets, but I’d like to blame that on the bounteous waves of joy I was experiencing rather than the four Jagerbombs my Brother bought for me.
• Laura’s Little Bakery provided my wedding cake, a beautiful confection comprised of a gingerbread cake swathed in cream cheese icing. It was squidgy, rich and utterly delicious. It’s always a sign of a good cake when all of your guests lick their plates clean and then ask for seconds. Indeed, many said that it was the best wedding cake they’d ever had – something I was inclined to agree with when I was munching a giant slab of it on my sofa the next day. The cakes she provided for the reception were consumed with equal gusto – so much so that I’m already thinking of ways in which I can replicate her lemon curd cupcakes in my own kitchen.
• Our wedding photographer, Rebecca Who, was an absolute wonder who exhibited both patience and skillz in following us around all day. One of the highlights of the day was me, my bridesmaids and her all wandering through Liverpool City Centre in our regalia, making people wonder if we were a real bridal party or just a very elaborate photo shoot. Honourable mention should also go to Mr. John Doran of The Quietus who was possibly the best wedding-disco-DJ a person could have asked for. The memory of my entire family dancing to Azealia Banks’s ’212′ is one which will stay with me for a very long time.

And then, in the best traditions of all newlyweds, we spent the next day eating pizza in our pyjamas, drinking Champagne and watching the football before buggering off to Berlin. But that’s another story for another blog post. Until then, look everyone! I’m married! BLOODY HELL!