One week to go and I have a rotten cold. I caught it deliberately, so when I say "I do" I will rasp like Bonnie Tyler and Gareth will say, "I DO TOO! I cannae resist a voice so sultry!". I seemed to have caused blogging confusion again. I didn't make it clear that I was just moving to Chez Gareth — the hitchin' doesn't happen until 3rd March. So that's a whole week of living in sin. Woo! Last night I was doing some laundry and was strangely mesmerised by my socks thrashing around in the washing machine. I'd visited Gareth's flat a million times before but now this was meant to be my flat too. Our flat. And this was the washing machine that I'd be using until death do us part. I'm so used to living with six other people and Soviet-style queues that I'd waited politely until Gareth had washed all his stuff instead of chucking mine in too. But the thought of having both our clothes jumping around in there together felt so bizarre. His manly boxers and my PURPLES struggling together in this crazy modern world. What a great metaphor for marriage! So! I'll let you in on our wedding plans. I don’t know if you have ever tried to organise a weeding in six weeks but it’s not bloody easy, what with half the guests being on the opposite side of the globe and the Home Office breathing down your neck. After a few days of scouting venues and contemplating a Registry Office wedding, we were struck by how much we weren’t looking forward to the event. It just felt so rushed and bloody wrong. Wasn’t this meant to be exciting? Wasn’t this meant to be a celebration that reflected us and our friends and our wacky little relationship? Instead we were wondering how to get around the 30 guest limit for the Registry Office, feeling guilty that The Mothership et al would have to butcher their finances to get here, and simply FREAKING OUT with all the attention and questions. That’s when we came up with the dandy idea of having not one, not two, but THREE little weddings. The first, next Thursday, will involve Gareth and I running off together to be wed in a mercifully brief ceremony. Just the two us, so we can relax on our honeymoon, have some time to come to terms with what we’re doing and have a good laugh. THEN in the summer we’re having a wee party for the Scottish contingent. By then we will have time to organise something not quite so rushed and dodgy, like he’d knocked me up and we were trying to make it look proper. Then FINALLY when we visit Australia we are having a shindig for the Oz folk. Both events will be low-key and casual. There may be Dramatic Re-enacments like on Australia’s Most Wanted. This way we get to celebrate with everyone! All the mothers are happy, and we are finally happy because we figured out a way to do this that is fun and doesn’t make us insanely stressed. Plus I get to wear my foxy frock three times, which is cracking good value for money! And of course, for you the valued WNP reader, this means Maximum Blogging Gold! At the very least with all this event planning The Mothership is bound to do something funny for me to write about. So everyone’s a winner! I’ve got a lot of “you’re insane” looks when I’ve told people how we’re doing things. Plus the speediness of it all throws them. Even The Mothership asked me, as all parents are obliged to do, if I was sure I was ready for this. I told her I am ready and have never been so ready for anything in my life. Gareth and I are both dawdling types who never rush into anything — you may recall how bloody long it took us to get together in the first place — but this occasion called for action! As the expiry date of my visa drew closer I knew that there was no way I could ever walk away from this guy. That I wanted do whatever it took for us to stay together. Lucky for me he felt the same way. And now I can’t bloody wait for the big day(s). I’ll be busy for the next wee bit, so just talk amongst yourselves as usual! Stay tuned!