Love Hurts

I felt a million dollars in my Leigh Hetherington gown and my husband didn't look too bad in his Gucci suit either. Despite the fact he "forgot" to button up his jacket and his buttonhole was somewhat askew, to say the least. His nerves got the better of him, he said. If I could have been there to inspect his attire, believe me I would.
All my hard work and obsessive attention to detail paid off and, with a little help from our friends, the day went completely to plan.
As I'd anticipated, the father/ daughter pre-wedding greeting was highly emotional. Assisted by a glass of Champagne or two, however, I managed to fight back the tears and found myself surprisingly composed while saying my vows.
Of course there are some things you simply can't plan. The heavens opened as we departed the cathedral, but it didn't mar proceedings.
If I had a pound for every person who stood on my dress, I'd be a rich, rich woman. And don't even mention the Christian Louboutin shoes!
Despite all the effort that went into obtaining them, and the fact they are absolutely fabulous, they hurt like hell. Come 8pm, my feet had gone into spasm and had turned a strange shade of blue. And so, with heavy heart, they were substituted for a more comfortable option and relinquished to the gift table. Well, at least everyone got the chance to see them.
We even managed to pull off the first dance. We Have All the Time in the World by Louis Armstrong. Pushing my husband around the dance floor while twirling and grinning for England took major brute force, but it seemed to go down a storm. One guest even asked us if we'd had lessons. If only they knew!
Trivialities aside, we had the perfect wedding day followed by an equally perfect honeymoon in Italy.
And so back to reality. With no colour scheme to plan, no cake to choose and no H2B to organise, I find myself at a loss. Post-wedding depression has set in.
So what next? A new house? A baby?
As the song says, "we have all the time in the world."