Why I'm glad I'm not Kate Middleton....

So, if you know me, you'll know that in a previous existence I would never have written that title. You see I've always wanted to be a princess. I've wanted to be a princess since forever. When I was a very small girl I walked around the ruins of a Welsh castle telling anyone who would listen that "I am the princess, and this is my castle" and that they were all my doting subjects. I wanted to ride horses, because princesses rode horses. I wanted to be a bridesmaid because they wear dresses like princesses and get to marry the prince. I wanted to be a princess because they live in castles, have long hair and because their daddy is the King.

When I was a teenager I went through a rebellious stage (clearly I didn't because I pretty much always towed the line - but bear with me). I went through a rebellious phase when I wore sneakers, listened to Britpop and denounced the establishmnt (for about three months) and went about telling everyone that I thought the royal family were a waste of time and money and should put to death by firing squad (is that treasonous - can I get hanged for writing that these days??). This was during the period in Prince William's life when he was all teeth and ears. Before Princess Di was killed, before he went to university and before he became the object of all my royal lust.

Let me also point out that I know that it is completely not cool to have a crush on Prince William. In fact you get more points for having a crush on Harry and he has ginger hair and his "royalness" is still very much in question. But I hold my hands up. I have often dreamt of marrying Prince William and being a princess. (I might add that I always factored in Mr Jones as the illicit love interest in these dreams - princesses always get to have affairs - anyone who has read anything about the Tudor court knows that. Mr Jones would have been the Robert Dudley to my Elizabeth the first - before her teeth went black and fell out).

When he started going out with Kate Middleton I got a bit Daily Mail about it all. I liked to check out what she was up too in a slightly stalkerish manner. Not because I hated her - but because I was in awe. Fabulous figure, bit of a clothes horse, intelligent, good looking - and going out with Prince William - who wouldn't be a tiny bit jealous. After a while I got a bit bored - until the split when I thought there might again be hope. But alas it wasn't to be.

So you might expect me to be just a mite peeved with all this talk of weddings - but when it comes to it I'm really not. Aside from the life of duty in the public eye - which I'd hate because quite frankly I detest the general public - the very thought of having to plan a royal wedding fills me with dread.

Every family has their black sheep - the relatives who make you cringe, who you know will just disgrace themselves by getting drunk and abusing someone, or if not that there's the lairy friend who can't be trusted in a civilised situation. You ummm and ahhh about whether you can get away with not inviting them to your wedding and generally deem that for the sake of peace you'll just put up with them and forewarn anyone who might be offended. BUT what do you do if your wedding is to be attended by the Queen and representatives of every Royal family in the world? What if the prime minister is going to be there? What is Elton John is singing you up the aisle? What if you're selling the pictures to Hello for a banker's bonus? Do you say "sod my family - I've got a new Royal one" and be forever hailed as the sell outer who thinks they're too good for their past? Or do you hope that Prince Harry digs out that fancy dress outfit or pray that Prince Phillip is allowed to voice an opinion so that it's not your disgraceful acquaintance that ends up fodder for Quentin Letts and the rest of his cronies?

Then there's the dress. People still talk and cringe about Princess Di's crumpled, puffed sleeved monstrosity with bows on - it's such a responsibilty. I was nearly consumed with stress about my dress and it was only going to be judged by 120 people - half of whom were men and couldn't give a fig - but poor old Kate has the entire female population of the globe to please. (And don't deny that you aren't interested because you know you are).

What if she wants to get married somewhere other than Westminster Abbey? What if she's always dreamt of a beach wedding or wants (God forbid) carnations and babies breath in her bouquet? What if she rather have something a bit smaller and really doesn't want it on the BBC?

In the end she's just a girl, who fell in love with a boy - who just happened to be a royal. It might seem like a dream to marry a Prince - but when your wedding turns into a national event I think it takes away a bit of the excitement and the meaning. No I'm glad I'm not Kate Middleton - I don't think I could take the responsibility - not for all the castles and tiaras in the world.

One Year Ago Today....

....I married Mr Jones - hurrah. And what a year it's been. I can't believe we're a family already. I never imagined a year ago today that we'd have a baby by our first anniversary. The wedding seems ages ago, but at the same time just a few moments in the past. It almost seems like a dream now (especially when it comes to fitting in that dress again!).

We certainly tested our vows. Poor Mr Jones spent the first four months of his married life looking after me, the cats and the house. Cooking me whatever weird concoction of food I thought I might fancy and then watching, patiently, while I threw it all back up again. The thought of baked beans, fish fingers and smash now makes my toes curl. But we got through it.

Then there was pregnancy insomnia, my sudden hatred of being pregnant which meant he found me inconsolably sobbing on more than one occasion. And of course the hideous labour - throughout which he held my hand and whispered words of encouragement in my ear. The relief on his face and through his tears at the end of it all spoke volumes.

And now of course we have sleepness nights and Mr Jones is struggling a bit to get to grips with fatherhood. But we're getting through it all together and despite the grumpy words at 3am and the scowls through another screaming fit (the baby - not us) we still love each other - and plan to for many years to come.

A few more little details

My bouquet was a beautiful mix of hydrangea (my favourite) and vintage roses - none of which I know the name of - but ask Miss Pickering she'll be able to tell you. The bridesmaids carried big pink hydrangea heads.



The aisle of our outside ceremony was lined with Bonne Maman jars filled with flowers and herbs. A big thanks to freecycle, the ladies of Rutland, Miss Simkins and anyone else who forced themselves to eat Bonne Maman for the cause. We'd planned for them to be tied to the chairs with pink ribbon - a la the photograph - but unfortunately the gale force winds meant that they sat elegantly on the grass instead, looking equally as beautiful.



The tea and cake stall was covered in vintage tea cups sourced by the Mother of the Bride from the local charity shop. There is now a similar picture adorning the walls of the shop and the ladies who run it are beside themselves with excitement. Everyone seems to have their favourite tea set and the Mother of the Bride is willing to barter. The cakes were all homemade by the Mother of the Bride, the maid of honour, myself, Miss Jones and Mrs Medd. People are still talking about the brownies and the carrot cake.



I arrived in style in a Morris Minor convertible - driven by my Daddy because we both get awfully car sick and couldn't bear the thought of being driven by anyone else. It's a good job really because I was so nervous that I was very nearly sick twice on the way there anyway. We drove over the field right up the the ceremony site.....

The details

I will resume with the honeymoon tales at some point - once I've had time to sift through the pics of lions, giraffes and Kudu. But I thought I might share a few wedding details with those of you who sadly couldn't make it. These pictures are courtesy of the lovely Miss P - we are still awaiting for the proper professional ones - but I have to say that I think these are rather fabulous.

I wanted our wedding to be very personal, not just a generic "wedding" the same as everyone else's. It was a lot of work, but it was completely worth it. I couldn't have done it without the help of my family and the patience and indulgence of Mr Jones - who was happy to let me run with my dreams - so thank you all.


The theme was country village fete - the bunting was hand made by the mother of the bride and the maid of honour.


The table cloths were made by me. The sweetie jar table centres were Mr Jones'idea.


The gallery of pictures was the work of me and Mr Jones.


The scones were baked on the morning of the wedding and served with jam I made myself - there were fresh strawberries too.





There were fete games to keep our guests entertained - some made by Mr Jones (I was very impressed by the pink ladder he made for the bean bag toss - not pictured. I made the bean bags - all different weights which apparently made it extra tricky - ooops). The signs were handmade by me and the very skilled maid of honour (based on her design for my hen do sash) - you should see her with an iron and some wonderweb!





It was all topped off with flowers by Miss Pickering.

Miss O'Neill Gets Married

I have had a partner in all this wedding planning - not Mr Jones you understand - but Miss O'Neill. Together we've talked flowers and frocks, lamented the lack of RSVPs and the laziness of husbands-to-be, we've discussed hairstyles, searched for earrings, compared perfumes and discussed first dances - and on Saturday Miss O'Neill got to go through it all first.

The weather was perfect, the venue was stunning and Miss O'Neill walked up the aisle to become Mrs Nightingale looking utterly beautiful. I hope my wedding is just as lovely - though I am sad that she will miss it and hope that she'll spare me a thought from the beach in the Maldives.

Scents and sensibility

You see I was being clever - today has been all about perfume. Miss O'Neill and I were given a tour of florals, musks, ambers and citrus' by a very elegant nose from France.

All rather lovely and especially handy for me - a girl in search of a new signature scent. And I found it - Chloe Eau de Parfum (the nose kindly gave me a bottle). It's so lovely that I've spent the rest of the day sniffing my own wrists - it even distracted me mid spin class.

Suffice to say that I shall be wearing it on the wedding day. I'm so in love with the bottle that I may just carry it around with me on the day to show you all how pretty it is.

Today I also bought some things to make me sparkle, a magic powder to stop the shine and two tops in the Monsoon sale (50 per cent off don't you know).

Le Bonne Maman

I am the proud owner of 19 Bonne Maman Jam Jars - thankfully Mr Jones and I didn't have to eat all the jam ourselves. Most of them were donated by kind Freecyclers - a marvellous lot. If you haven't tried it, do - you can swap all sorts and all for free.

My friend Miss Simkins spent a jolly afternoon cycling round South London collecting jars from various lovely freecycle folk (thank you ever so much Em) and the Mother of the Bride and I took a trip to Oakham for more. The Ladies of Rutland do seem to like their Bonne Maman.

We're still after more, so if you have any do get in touch.

PS for those of you who are reading this via Facebook - my notes are linked to my blog - for the real thing visit http://becomingmrsjones.blogspot.com/

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.

What's in a name

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Shakespeare and Mr Jones differ somewhat on names (though only if you take Shakespeare out of context and forget the preceding text). Mr Jones is surprisingly traditional when it comes to names – and mine in particular. He is firmly of the – “the wife should take the husbands name” school of thought.

I, on the other hand, am rather attached to my maiden name and would like to keep it. I’m more than happy to meet half way and double barrel it – but according to Mr Jones that would involve signing our children up for regular playground beatings for being too posh. Honestly!

Unlike Juliet I don’t really fancy denying my father or refusing my name – and Mr Jones certainly can’t be convinced to doff his, even if I do promise to give him all of myself. At least Juliet was swapping Capulet for Montague - even she would have been slightly less enthusiastic if she was turning herself into a Jones. There are literally millions and millions of them – oh the obscurity.

But the argument has arisen many a time, and I have been informed on each occasion that it’s a deal breaker – it’s Mrs Jones or a spinster’s cottage and a menagerie of cats. So Mrs Jones it will be (apart from at work – where I have managed to convince him that it would be career suicide to change my name now – phew!)