Okay guys, something really very weird is happening to me. My life has leapt from relative stasis to complete whirlwind. First the new job, after five years stagnating in my comfort zone.
And now this.
I am getting married.
I never thought I would write those words. It is absolutely true - even though I am half cut after a lovely, celebratory, impromptu wine/cake moment in the office (and we're on deadline which actually makes it all the more endearing) so please humour the nostalgia. My oldest blogging mates - Peas on Toast, Fake Adult, Confuddled, Almost Witty, Peabody, The Leak, Mrs Pop and all you others (including you lurkers - Google Stats, my dears!) - will understand how much of a fucking miracle this is. The Old Blog was a quagmire of hilarious emotional fuckwittage in which I genuinely believed I would marinate for life.
MC and I went away this weekend to celebrate our anniversary (it was exactly a year ago on Sunday that we first met, consumed a vat of wine and ended up snogging like mad in a west london wine bar). On Saturday we realised that we hadn't done anything remotely practical like exchange gifts/cards. But we were away so rather than spend a whole day shopping on our own we decided to limit ourselves to one hour of intense gift buying. I went conventional... clothes, aftershave etc. He emerged with a giant bag of something, and despite my irratingly persistent curiosity, we both agreed to wait until the anniversary day itself.
That night we went out for a gut-busting curry. I awoke on Sunday morning after a bad night's sleep feeling grumpy, full and generally annoyed with myself for having scoffed so many bloody onion bhajis (and let's not even mention the naan). We were about to exchange presents when he ordered me into the bathroom while he 'prepared'. I thought he was going to go down to the breakfast bar to get breakfast in bed and was wondering how on earth I would manage to eat any more.
Finally he re-emerged and led me back into the room. Our bed - a beautiful four poster dressed in white cotton linen and chiffron curtains - was strewn with roses. So romantic, I thought. 'Can you read what they say?' he asked... at which point I panicked. 'I *think* so,' I said slowly, thinking, shit, if I get this wrong, and actually it says 'cup of tea?', I am so screwed. But no - it really did say 'marry me'.
Cue ten minutes of 'are you sure? Are you really sure?' and ten minutes of crying. Which was nothing compared with my family, who shrieked and sobbed and wailed their congratulations through the resulting phone calls (am still half deaf); at about midnight I resorted to text because the average conversation was lasting 45 minutes and I still had at least 15 other calls to make before the B List found out on Facebook.
We have no time, no date, no budget and no idea where to begin. But there is a hell of a lot of champagne to be drunk while we figure it all out.