to-do-lists and bikes from hell

Yesterday I made a wedding to-do list to prove to Mr Jones that the whimpering in my sleep and the furrows on my brow aren't just a plea for attention. It had 33 items on it and I'm sure there's more to do! I have now delegated a large chunk to Mr Jones who assures me that it'll all be sorted by the end of the week.

Yesterday I also went to my first ever spinning class. It wasn't as bad as a I thought it would be and I managed to keep up. However - I shan't be going again. I have been unable to sit down in any sort of comfort since I slid off the seat - which had clearly been designed for someone with a much smaller behind.

The fitting

Despite the fact that it's still a toile (that's dressmaker speak for a version of a frock made out of calico) I love my dress. It had to be adjusted a tad to fit the newly shaped me, hurrah, and it looked lovely.

All hail the new wedding bra - I might have had a brief moment of cardiac discomfort at the till (it cost more than my shoes!), but I will admit that it's worth the money. It held my Jane Mansfield's firmly in place under the frock and I felt all adrift when I took it off and replaced it with my £12 M&S special. Oh to have an excuse and the budget to buy expensive fripperies for everyday wear.

Miss Lamb (dressmaker) did put the wind up me slightly by saying I couldn't really lose much more weight. The frock will now be cut out of the silk, which apparently, makes vast alterations more tricky and only certain seams can be adjusted. But I am allowed to lose weight from the sides and the back - hmmm - I shall have to shrink the stomach sideways then - any ideas how?

Thou shalt covet...

... My wedding shoes - look how gorgeous they are? I am so impressed with my thriftiness - and I actually like them better than these bank breaking beauties. They look more vintage and were a mere fraction of the price. If you'd like to order a pair for yourself do let me know.

My day was made

Last night I went for my Tuesday night torture session at the gym. There are aerobics steps involved, a lot of jumping and the need for some semblance of hand eye co-ordination, of which I possess very little.

However my stepping prowess has come a long way since my first class during which I laughed a lot to cover my embarrassment at doing almost everything out of time and in the wrong direction. I was encouraged heartily by a very lovely chap who reassured me that in a few weeks I'd get it and wouldn't look like such an idiot.

Last night said gentleman made his way over to my step before the sweating and jumping started and asked me: "Are you training for something?"

"Oh no," I replied, guffawing at the thought. "I'm trying to get fit for my wedding in August"

"Well, whatever you're doing is clearly working, because you look fantastic," said he."You must be working really hard."

I practically leapt off my step and kissed him there and then. Especially given the fact that the lycra clad old bat on the step in front of me clearly seemed a bit miffed to have not garnered such a compliment herself. She turned her snarl into a smile and said - "Nice chat up line, Barry." Oh dear - lycra and jealousy clearly don't mix.

Our second wedding present

Mr Jones and I are in possession of a very lovely house - and after six months of hard graft it should damn well be lovely. However, we also possess a garden that looks like a a rubble pit with a few patches of worn out grass and a delapidated shed.

During the recent balmy weather I have been gazing mournfully out of the French doors beside my desk, envisioning a lovely garden adorned with roses, hydrangeas, herbs and vegetables and with a lovely place for me to sit and enjoy breakfast, lunch and dinner alfresco. But alas - weddings these days are rather pricey and the garden budget has long since been eaten up by hog roasts, frocks and honeymoons.

On Saturday morning at 8.22am (precisely) my phone rang. After reassuring me that there was no crisis and no one had died (my first thoughts whenever anyone calls early in the morning - I don't know why) - father of the bride said that he and mother of the bride had been talking and had decided that they would give us our wedding present early. Lovely Mummy and Daddy have very, very kindly offered to pay for the garden overhaul.

It made my day - and Mr Jones' - I think he was getting a bit sick of the whinging every time the sun shone. So we now have something to keep us occupied until the wedding. And rest assured you'll all be invited to the grand unveiling - the elegant garden party in which we can use our very first wedding present. I must say I do like this present lark.

Postponed

Don't panic - we're not postponing the wedding - just our engagement shoot. It was due to be this weekend, with this glorious weather, but unfortunately the very talented Mr Crash Taylor - yes that is his real name - is very poorly and in bed with a fever.

I have to say that my first thoughts at the news weren't all that charitable (suck it up the sun is shining dammit - sprung to mind) but then I thought, actually who wants a photographer who's artistic prowess is clouded by snot and a very high temperature? Not me - so hurry back to health Mr Taylor so we can have some lovely pictures taken on a hopefully equally sunny day.

Our Song....

As you may or may not know - Mr Jones and I met 10 years ago at Hull University. It took us two years to turn ourselves into a couple, but we've been pretty much inseparable ever since.

We shared many late nights of drunkness and many evenings were spent dancing to cheesy uni music and random bands. Now Mr Jones and I really don't do bands or band nights or anything that involves the sentence "Dude, I'm with the band" - but shortly before we left Hull the union threw an event called Maga-Gig - a music festival which, by all accounts they do every year.

In the summer of 2001 the Dum Dums were the head line act. We'd heard a few of their songs on the radio, but we didn't know too much about them. So we sat on the grass eating weird veggie food and drinking vodka slushes (me) and snake bite and black (Mr Jones) swaying along to the various support bands and chatting with our friends.

To be honest - by the time the Dum Dums came on stage we were to put it politely - hammered - and I don't remember too much about their show. I remember them getting us to sing Atomic Kitten's "You can make me whole again" and I remember dancing with Mr Jones to this song.

When we recovered the next morning (there were super noodles involved) we were both still humming this song. We went out and bought the cd and it's been our song ever since.

Sadly the Dum Dums split up very soon after Mega Gig - in fact it was their penultimate gig. But over the last 8 years we've kept up to date with the comings and goings of Josh Doyle - their lead singer. And guess what - he's coming to the UK in May to do a few shows - including some Dum Dums stuff. Unfortunately he won't be able to stay until August for our wedding (we have asked!) - but we really want to see him play.

So this is a plea to anyone reading - this click here

View all Cambridge events on Eventful

It's an Eventful request to have Josh play in Cambridge. Mr Jones and I will be in the front row singing along to our song.

xoxo

Bootcamp Update #4

I've realised that it's been a while since I filled you in on all things weight loss related. Well, it's been going rather well - thanks to Mr Jones and Mrs Silva Medd.

Mr Jones is on a health kick and keeps tutting at me if I even suggest that we eat anything fattening (though I would like to point out that on Saturday he spent almost 12hrs in the pub and managed to consume a steak sub and a chicken tikka naan. When I raised my eyebrows at this he did point out that it could have been worse - it could have been a chicken tikka massala naan!)

Mrs Silva Medd has joined the gym and has become my workout buddy - we're both equally good at encouraging each other to stop being lazy and fingers crossed it will last because - wait for it, drum roll please - I have now lost a grand total of 19lbs - hurrah.

Next dress fitting is Friday 27th - all I can say is - it better be too big.

The next most important lady - after me

The weekend started on Friday this week - hurrah - with a marathon shopping trip with the Mother of the Bride. We traipsed and we trawled with just quick stops for coffee and sushi. By the end of the day my feet felt as though they belonged to someone else and the beloved cowboy boots have been banished to the cupboard for a few weeks as payment for their acts of torture on my toes.

Anyway - Mummy tried on a rather lovely ensemble from L K Bennett and was chuffed to fit into a size 14 - the dieting has paid off and she looked fabulous (she couldn't breathe, or sit down - but that's besides the point). The jury is still out as to whether this is the outfit, but it was definitely the best so far.

Being Mother of Bride is jolly tricky I've come to realise. You want to look stylish, but in no way over shadow the bride. You need to blend and tone in with the bridesmaids, but not look like one or clash hideously. And you need shoes that ensure you don't look taller than your husband and head gear that doesn't give you hat hair.

We've decided anything floral and floaty is out and we're after something just a little bit Jackie O with perhaps a touch of Audrey thrown in for good measure - sans the cigarette holder.

In between frock hunting we found bridesmaid shoes for £25 a pair - reduced from £60! We also searched for my shoes and after a brief period of panic when it seemed that as a bride this season you are meant to take shoe inspiration from table dancing hookers (they were all diamante platforms and huge cone heels) I eventually found them for just £36. They are yet to be embellished - but once finished will look just as marvellous as these at the tiniest fraction of the price - I'll not have it said that I can't be thrifty. Pictures to come.

A revision on the thoughts on pen and ink....

You will recall that I recently expressed delight at receiving a hand written note. Well today I received another one that was slightly less welcome.

I bounded (read - dragged myself wearily) down the stairs this morning to see a piece of paper lying on the doormat. I picked it up and panicked. In a slightly creepy hand was written:

"DRILL, HAMMER, BUZZ-HUM, BUZZ HUM,
THESE 10 MONTHS GONE,
WHEN WITH THE NOISY DIY
WILL YOU BE DONE?
BUT AT 5AM IT IS JUST NOT ON.

(PS YOUR HAMMER DRILL NEEDS IT'S RF CHOKE CHECKING)"

Now, Mr Jones jetted off to Dublin at stupid O'Clock this morning, leaving me with the cats as my sole protectors until he returns this evening. So I obviously started to panic ever so slightly.

Images of the few horror films I've seen (I don't watch them - my imagination is far too overactive) flicked through my head. Girl in house alone, receives odd, creepy note, then the phone calls start and before long she's tied up on a deck chair with her throat slit.

I called my mum, and my dad and neither of them answered (obviously they didn't realise that I was in grave peril - typical!). I left Mr Jones a message to call me as soon as his flight landed and then I sat down for a few deep breaths.

Panic calmed, logic set in. Our neighbour is a recluse and by all accounts slightly strange. We moved into this house in November having spent six months renovating it and haven't done any drilling since - and certainly not at 5am in the morning.

Mr Jones' alarm went off at 5am and he got in the shower. Our shower has a pump on it, which probably, through a wall, sounds like a drill. I turned the paper over - it says:

"I ask you kindly - and in verse"

So I have decided that: the note is not meant to be creepy, that our neighbour is indeed, truly, a little odd, but clearly not confontational and just a touch poetic (bless), that our shower pump needs muffling so as not to disturb our street's answer to Boo Radley, and that I shall write a note in reply (because he won't answer the door). However, I'm not sure my poetic abilities are quite up to scratch, so I'll have to return the favour in prose.

Ho hum - all in a days work. Oh and in terms of the wedding - today I have ordered some very clever napkins and requested quotes from printers for the invitations.

Today I am listening to...

... this song - and it sends shivers down my spine. This is actually a cover by a seemingly very talented unknown singer Benjamin Sharkey.

To love, honour and mock...

I have just spent the last hour re-typing an article that I'd spent all afternoon writing. You see, technology, yet again, got the better of me.

I'd emailed said article to myself from the office, opened it and had been merrily adding to it post lunch. I clicked save and went to email it back to the office and it wasn't there. I had inadvertently saved it to the ether. (I can't tell you how many of my articles are floating in the ether - you see this isn't the first time this has happened - if you ever come across any please let me know).

In a panic I called Mr Jones - who by profession is most definitely not techincally inept. I regaled him with my woes hoping that he would ride in on a vitual charger and rescue me. But no - his reaction: "You're such a dumbass!"

A terse exchange ensued for 10 minutes, during which I demanded that he make my copy magically reappear. But alas - with the word "dumbass" ringing in my ears - I have spent the last hour retyping my carefully phrased prose.

*A plea to Microsoft -please put some sort of check in place that will stop the ether being clogged with my work.
*Memo to self - always click save as!

And they say romance is dead

Mr Jones came through the door after another long day at work with the words:

"I bought you a present!"

Images of artfully arranged bouquets, packages from Boden or a much missed bag of Woolies fizzy bootlaces filled my head.

"Oh really - what is it" say I in excited anticipation.

"Chocolates" says Mr Jones proudly.

I wipe the look of disappointment of my face and smile gratefully. All the while thinking "Chocolates, I don't even like chocolates. I'm supposed to be on a diet and you buy me chocolates! How many hints does a girl have to give - flowers dammit, or Cath Kidston handbags."

"Yeah - I ate one in the car though - sorry" he says. "Oh and I didn't really buy them, they guy I was meeting gave us a whole box of them, he works at the Thorton's factory. They're nice ones though. Thought you might like them."

Bless him - at least he tries.

In search of flawless perfection

On my wedding day I'd like my skin (and everything else really) to look like this:

Currently I look more like this:

Well, I'm not green - but you get the picture! If there are any beauty editors/prs reading this who can recommend a wonder product or treatment (that I haven't already tried), that can promise to turn me from a pimply Shrek look alike into clear skinned Kate I'd very much appreciate the tip. 

Wedding dreams

The other night I had a dream about the wedding. As I walked up the aisle I heard the muffled cries of an infant - I scanned the assembled crowd to see a guest bouncing her baby on her knee. I paused, bent down and politely asked her to leave in whispered tones - pointing out that we had, infact, asked guests to leave their munchkins at home.

She refused - so I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her bodily down the aisle, baby in tow. I do hope it wasn't a premonition and that such action won't be required on the day - it really isn't becoming of a bride!