“HAVE you decided what kind of cake you want then?” the friendly baker asked, thrusting a tin of delicious smelling chocolate biscuit samples under my nose.
“No,” I lied, cramming cake into my mouth.
We had of course decided, months ago. And booked it. And paid a deposit. To another baker. But she was offering free cake, what was a girl to do?
I soon discovered that far from turning red and looking awkward, like Yer Man does, I was actually quite good at lying and was soon going from cake stand to cake stand, inventing stories about our wedding simply to get my greedy hands on more treats.
I had a big long conversation with one lovely lady about red velvet cake and walked away hating myself for deceiving her.
The pile of butter-soft lemon sponge cake in my lámh helped with the guilt though.
We spent today at a wedding fair in our hotel, walking around taking photographs of anything that moved and basically grinning like loons.
Look at all these losers, we nodded amongst ourselves. They haven’t booked here yet, they’re not sure, they’re undecided. The big eejits. What’s not to like? Who wouldn’t want to have their wedding here? It has everything!
Gleaming marble lobby? Check!
Sweeping staircase with scattered petals and twinkling tea-lights on each step? Check!
Private drinks reception room overlooking a majestic tenth century crumbling castle? Check!
Large, airy function room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a stunning church and the side of the same tenth century crumbling castle? Check!
Beautiful centrepieces? Check!
Duck egg blue bridal suite? Check!
Bathrobes and free slippers? Check!
Rooftop terrace? Check!
We are racing ever faster towards the six month mark and so far have most of the big things organised for the wedding. Next on our list is sorting out the details with the hotel – menu, rooms, rates, tastings, table plans – one of the main reasons we went down to the hotel today to have another goo at it.
We queued up to have a word with the manager dude, to arrange a date for a meeting with him later this month. Hard as I tried to be normal, the minute we sat down with him my inner Bridezilla reared her ugly head and I found myself yelling frantically “DO YOU STILL HAVE OUR BOOKING?!” having been seized with a terrible fear that we had somehow been wiped from their system.
He shot Yer Man a fleeting sympathetic glance and smoothly assured us we were still booked, pulling our file out from his overflowing diary as proof.
Phew. Crisis averted.
We set the date for the meeting, transferred another chunk of cash to their account as a deposit and headed back down the sweeping staircase.
“I don’t want to go home,” I sighed tearfully, plonking myself on the bottom stair.
“Eh, get up there now and stop making a scene,” Yer Man said, looking shiftily about “people are looking at you.”
“I don’t CARE if people are looking,” I sobbed back “I loooovvee it here, I don’t want to go home, I want to get married nowwww! I don’t want to wait six months!”
Throwing his eyes to heaven he hauled me up from the step and held out a bulging napkin as a bribe to come quietly.
It was cake. Lots and lots of cake. Turns out he has a devious side himself and had procured a pile of sponge by telling even more elaborate lies than I had.
I hesitated for a few seconds, loathe to leave my fairytale fantasy…
But I’m only human.