Le Fabuleux Destin de Moi

So, I haven't written for a while for a couple of reasons. Last weekend was Jenny and Rob's wedding, so that kept me pretty busy for a few days.

In true Jenny style, the celebrations spanned over 3 days. Thursday night was the rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner. The wedding was held at Lady Chapel at Westminster Abbey so was quite some affair! Luckily I'd been to visit the Abbey with Rob the week before, so, as the only bridesmaid present at the time, I could concentrate on the rehearsal, not the architecture! It's an amazing building, so huge, so ornate, so awe-inspiring. We went in at the end of evensong, so we got to see the choir filing out (there must have been a good 30 - 40 choir boys) and the peculiar spectacle of career clergymen in effectively one of the most important religious buildings in the capital. I can't help wondering what their lives are like. The rehearsal was deeply bizarre, going through the motions while in your everyday clothes. Much fun though. This was followed by the rehearsal dinner, at a v. posh (well, to me, what did I know of what was to follow?!) restaurant called Bistro 51. Something tells me that the '51' didn't mean that the restaurant had gone bankrupt a few times and reopened under a slightly different name (fans of Oxford's very own Wok 23 and it's previous incarnations Wok 21 and Wok 22 take note). The champagne was flowing, which certainly helps you get on better terms with other people's family members. Combined with silent waiters topping up your wine glass every time you looked away and a near epic tube/train/bus/walk journey home, I was very glad that I had the next day off work

Friday dawned particularly grey and showery, but I made the most of a precious day off with a trip into Putney for weekend essentials - wedding card, suitably bridesmaid-y underwear and the final renewal of my young persons railcard (sob!). Finally made it to Stash Yarns in Putney to buy some realy cool yarn, think I'm making my sisters gloves for Xmas! Was ridiculously nervous about going to the Lansdowne Club, where we were all staying on Friday night and where the reception was being held. I guess it's ok to feel like a fish out of water as a 25 year old girl in an ancient gentleman's club...I got there much earlier than the rest of the wedding party, so I finally made a trip to COS on Regent Street. Wow, I'm going to have to avoid that place...After that, I met Jenny and her family, dranak gin and tonics in the bar, and all was well with the world again. Surprised myself by getting on very well with all the respective grandparents present, a bonding experience increased by getting them all across London on the tube to Mongolian Barbecue for dinner. Was actually really good fun, wonder if it would feel the same if I had all my relatives in one place...? Incredibly knackering though, so once we had negotiated all of the grandparents and elderley friends back to the hotel, we were ready for an early night.

Saturday was, well, unlike any other day that I have ever known. From sitting by myself in the breakfast room (chanelling every 1940's scene of a lady 'breakfasting alone'), to having my hair and make up done (I could get used to that), to quite alot of sitting around (the wedding wasn't til 4.30pm) and having our photos taken pretty solidly from 2pm by a roving team of photographers. It was pretty exciting really, and Jenny looked so amazing. We bridesmaids didn't look too bad either. We travelled to the church in a routemaster bus (the tourists had a field day) and Jenny arrived pretty early, so we had more photos taken before the whole thing kicked off. I actually got quite overcome in the church. Blimey, it's all so huge in there - size and symbolism. I don't think I would ever have the guts to do it. Was really great to see Mike aftwards, though only briefly as it was time for, you guessed it, more photos. The rest of the evening vanished into a bit of a haze where moments stand out - dinner at the top table between the bride and groom's fathers, speeches, champagne, the groom's dad asking me and the other bridesmaid 'how long do you give them?' (he meant til they have kids, but go figure, surely I'm not the only one who was shocked and thought he meant something else entirely!), scottish dancing that I had drunk way too much to do anything other than fall over during, falling on my arse twice while attempting to dance (this made me a bit grumpy, I learnt scottish dancing off my mum and I have scottish blood for heaven's sake), the cake being cut, eating the cake outside in the court yard with no shoes on (bliss, my bridesmaid shoes were sheerest agony, I nearly fell over with relief in the lift when I took them off)...then it was over, and it was time to go home.

It's a most odd feeling when the thing that you have been most looking forward to for 18 months is over and done with. I felt fraudulent feeling so depressed that it was over, it wasn't even my wedding! So, much to my shame, I cried, then and there, on my best friend who was so happy, and I feel bad for doing it. I guess that I just felt...so...left behind. I'm not ready to get married yet, but I wish I was. I'm worried that things will change so we can't be friends anymore. In a weird way, Jenny wasn't the Jenny I know and love that day. She was a girl in a great big dress, who was becoming someone else, rather than just changing her name. Maybe it's not really true, but I couldn't help feeling like everything we've been through before was getting left behind, that we won't ever be those two girls who used to share a love for too much alcohol and dancing to cheesy music at the Pav again.

Mike was great. He looked after me, and told me it wasn't silly (even though it was). The evening finished in a suitable way - we'd planned to get a taxi all the way home (seeing as another night in the hotel would be really expensive). But we weren't the only ones with that idea...so instead we got the bus from outside the Ritz. The joy of speeding through London on a night bus in a bridesmaids dress and flip flops...

My bouquet is still in a jam jar at home. The day after it almost hurt to look at it. A week on, not so much. I even ate my chocolate party favours the other night. It's ok to feel like this I think, it's a sign of how much I enjoyed being part of it. Now I just have to get my dress dry cleaned and find a cupboard that is big enough for it to hang in...

So, here it is, my very first entry in my very first blog. How exciting! Only it's not looking too exciting right now, just an empty page with alot of white space. But, in the words of one great fantasy writer - 'the longest journey starts with the smallest step.'. So. Here I go. I wonder what will end up getting written here?

I have been inspired to start my own blog by some of the very fine specimens that I have encountered, chanced upon by listening to a number of really good podcasts - namely Cast On, Chubb Creek and Quirky Nomads, which all have blogs (of sorts) attached to them. And through them I came onto several others - The Panopticon and the blog running off the Stash Yarns website. I'm so impressed that these people have set them up to share their thoughts and activities and hobbies and dreams and sometimes to just plain sound off and that other people have started to read them often and comment on them, and moreover, that I have become one of those people who check Brenda Dayne's blog every day, just to see what she's been up to.

Perhaps I should explain why this seems so appealing to me right now. I've just moved to London, after nearly 26 years of living at home in the bosom of my family. The move has been a fab thing - I've moved in with the boyf after longer than I care to mention of painfully living apart and so far that's all working great. I've started a new job which is certainly challenging, which is certainly what I needed after almost 5 years in my first job. But boy oh boy, has it been a scary journey so far. I've been coping pretty well with the whole thing, but moving to a big city after 13 years of living (and loving living) in rural Oxfordshire is sure some eye opener. Beyond the marvels of entertainment at all hours and constantly available public transport (I sure know how to live, right?), I'm still getting used to this whole urban thing. Like I'm finding it hard to sleep cos of the traffic and street lights all night, and I miss having my family about me all the time.

Anyway...why the blogs and podcasts? Cos when I'm feeling uneasy and lonely (and who doesn't when they change their home and their job?), I don't like to listen to music to fill the empty spaces, I like to listen to voices. Hence why I'm building up the world's biggest collection of audio books on my iPod, and why I as so thrilled to find out that people might record a weekly dose of just the kind of thing I like to listen to in the mornings on my way through urban sprawl after urban sprawl, from packed commuter train to crowded streets on the way to my office. Right now, they're so important to me, cos they help me remember who I am(and who I'm determined to remain, despite how Londonised everything else is around me)and they also help me have a private world all the way from my front door, to my office door, when my day starts proper. I've always had a stupid ambition to leave something behind me that people might read, and be, I don't know, altered by somehow. And if it isn't going to be a book, who knows, maybe it will be this. Because all those podcasts and blog I've been reading are affecting me, even if nobody else.

So, the aim of this blog - to see things in a way that other people here don't - to keep my eyes open in a situation where most people are closing their eyes because all they see is hustle and bustle and too many people. Sounds corny, but I want to keep on seeing beauty every day. It's easy to do right now, because I am excited about living in London and I'm still enthusiastic enough to do that.

Today's beautiful thing - skiving off work 10 minutes early. The feeling of freedom walking down to corridor on my way home to cook a really nice dinner and watch the Sopranos with boyf. It felt so good! It's so much nicer a feeling to be walking home across the Golden Jubilee Bridge, rather than walking towards another tricky day negotiating a new job. Long live that feeling!