Chapter 7: Me, a name, I call myself…

I’m having an identity crisis. I’m in limbo, caught between two lives – if you want to look at it that way.

What I really mean is that this summer, after a wonderful, crazy-fun wedding which went off even better than I expected, I relinquished my surname of 29 years and took up the name of my new husband. Like a third of Wales, I’m now a Griffiths. I like it – it sounds a bit like ‘griffin’, which is cool.

But like a pair of new boots it still needs a bit of breaking in. I’ve yet to settle on a new signature (I feel stupidly like a lovelorn teenage girl writing ‘Mrs Jenny Griffiths’ over and over) and haven’t got round to changing it officially (there’s a worryingly long list of people and organizations I need to tell, hence the procrastination).

So why change it at all? After all, I didn’t have to.

Happily, “Are you taking his name?” isn’t an uncommon question these days: find it filed alongside all the other Standard Questions To Ask A Bride (“Have you got the dress yet?”, “Where are you going on honeymoon?”, “Have you thought this through?!”).

I love that the reply you’ll get is totally 50/50 – loads of my girlfriends have kept their names after marriage, and I can see why. Your name is one of the first things that truly belongs to you, and you’ve likely spent your career so far making sure the right people know it.

So it took some thought to switch. But it was with a view to the long term that I decided to do it in the end. My main reason being that, should we start a family (which we hope to), I don’t want to be the only one with a different surname. I could give our kids my name, of course, but we’d still have the same problem.

Going double-barrelled was never an option – Shelton-Griffiths hardly trips of the tongue (Griffiths-Shelton, even worse). One of my favourite couples is going rogue and inventing a completely new married surname – but they’re much more rad than I am. Call me old fashioned, but I like the idea of family names going back through history, even if it is just through the coal mines of Yorkshire (like mine) or the coal mines of south Wales (like my beloved’s). And I want my kids to feel connected to their family’s past.

Furthermore, in becoming a Griffiths, I’m becoming part of a whole new family. They’re a magnificently ramshackle lot, The Griffithses; loud, loving and always the first on the dancefloor (even if there isn’t one). I feel I can contribute to that.

As a compromise, and like many writers, I’m keeping my maiden name at work, so Jenny Shelton is still very much part of who I am. But who do I want Jenny Griffiths to be? This feels like something of an opportunity. What kind of qualities do I want her to have? Largely the same ones Jenny Shelton had, of course. But there’s a chance to re-evaluate here. I’ve found myself suddenly making lists of things I want to do: go to Glastonbury, ski again, travel more, climb a mountain, perfect a hobby, push myself and make a difference somehow.

I remember, when I was little, asking my mum how she felt taking my dad’s name, and her answer was ‘proud’. I’m looking at my name change with the same optimism.

Chapter 6: Music & lyrics (and dancing)

What do wrestlers, snooker players and brides have in common? We all have entrance music. Like most couples, H2B and I deliberated long and hard over our music choices, starting with the song I’ll walk down the aisle to. The Wedding March is the classic, but seems more suited to a traditional church venues. Plus it makes me think of the rude version we sang at school.

We talked songs with our registrar, who clearly had more than a few good wedding stories to tell, and apparently brides have made their grand entrance to all kinds of interesting numbers. The theme from Jaws being one. And who wouldn’t want to skip down the aisle to the Match of the Day tune?

But it could be worse. Here are some of my top inappropriate choices:

Queen, Another One Bites The Dust

Sinatra, The Lady is A Tramp

The Automatic, Monster (‘what’s that coming over the hill…’)

Hall & Oates, Man Eater

Freda Payne, Band of Gold (right theme, wrong message)

Kanye, Gold Digger

Anything by Slipknot, probably.

The first dance is another that requires some thought. Advice: listen to the lyrics. The Police’s Every Breath You Take is apparently a popular choice, but have you actually heard it? It’s a tiny bit stalker-y, while the P Diddy version is about mourning a dead friend. Not appropriate.

Here, you’ve got another decision to make: what kind of dance to do? I’ve seen lots of awkward slowdance shuffles, but equally you don’t want to go too Strictly OTT… Showdance routines can be a bit high on the cringe-o-meter. And can you really do the Dirty Dancing lift? No, is the answer. We all think we can, but we can’t. And crushing your groom in an avalanche of tulle is no way to start married life.

Still, do choose something unique and that has meaning for you both, and don’t worry if you don’t look like Fred & Ginger. I actually stressed quite a bit about our song choices, but as one wise (married) friend advised, you’ll hardly notice it on the day, and all those minor details that seem so huge in the lead-up will melt away. It’s just two weeks to go for me now and it’s a good place to be. Everything’s sorted (touches plenty of wood) and I’m just enjoying being a bride-to-be while I can. It’ll be over in a flash, after all.

We also asked the wedding co-ordinator at our venue about the last song of the night, and apparently Sinatra has a lot to answer for. “Everyone ends with New York, New York,” she bemoaned. “But it gets people too hyped up. The staff will be poised to clear up, hear it, and know they’ll be waiting another half an hour while everyone stands around chatting and dancing afterwards.” A nice calming ballad it is, then.

Chapter 5: Brides on a budget

I’ve already shared my secret to savvy dress shopping success (see Blog 3, below) so this time I thought I’d divulge a few other wallet-friendly tricks I’ve come across during this mysterious, magical – and sometimes maddening – process of putting together a wedding.

The average wedding in the UK costs around £21,000. That sounds pretty ridiculous, but when you think that a venue costs around £3,000 (more on a weekend), and dresses can be up to £2,000 (add more for the veil, shoes and underwear…), it’s easy to see how it all stacks up. But shopping around, considering other options and keeping a handle on your spending will all help.

Weddings are full of hidden costs: like stamps for your invitations, and linen (not all caterers include this in their costings, so check). Send your invites early and use second class post (is that cheap? Your friends will forgive you) and give yourself time to shop around rather than going with the first caterers, cake suppliers and florists you meet.

Hello, flower

I recently sorted my flowers, and it’s definitely been one of my favourite jobs. At a friendly consultation in the shop, we looked over some photos to get an idea what I wanted (a loose, informal, hand-tied bouquet with garden flowers, it seemed). They’ll ask you about your colour scheme, and tell you what flowers are in season in the month of your wedding. And if you don’t know what a flower is called, typing ‘small white flower weddings’ or similar into Google usually works a charm. Some flowers are pricier than others too, which your florist can advise.

Though I’ll use a proper florist to make my bridal bouquet, I’m going to do the venue flowers myself. Big, formal arrangements aren’t really my bag; a few roses, freesias and gypsophila (getting clever now…) in jam jars and mis-matched jugs will work better with our natural, homespun theme. Have a practice first though – I spent an enjoyable afternoon with my mum, the kitchen filled with flowers from the market, seeing what worked best together then writing down how much of each flower I’ll need to get from the market the day before. A friend also advised us not to make the arrangements too tall, so people can still talk to each other without being obscured – very sensible.

Great mates

Without even asking, I’ve acquired fairy lights, decorative hanging hearts and a few other bits and bobs from married mates. I think it’s a great idea for brides to share their stuff: I’m going to end up with about 80 jam jars I won’t know what to do with after June – if anybody wants em’, they’re yours.

It feels right to treat your maids to their dresses, and even a nice piece of jewellery as a thank-you present. But when the dress is £150, and the shoes not far off, don’t forget you’re timesing everything by two, three or maybe four. Don’t feel you only have to look in bridal stores; there are plenty of gorgeous options in regular shops too, especially at this time of year. In fact, if you look to your favourite shops – the ones you’d go to yourself for a nice garden party (or, indeed, a wedding) outfit – you’re likely to find styles you know you love. And don’t be shy about asking for a discount if you’re buying several of the same dress – many managers will consider knocking off 10{b486c5a37ab2d325d17e17d701cb2567b1ecd1814e8ceb33effa2a4f1f171d46}.

You can’t scrimp on everything though. Sometimes, things just cost what they cost. Our biggest expense has been the photography and, though we’ve done away with canapés and will serve the cake as dessert, the catering. Still, by reining in the spending elsewhere, you’ll feel less depressed when you next check your bank balance. And a little bit chuffed that you’ve beaten the system. Or is that just me?

Chapter 4: Wedmin woes

With four months to go until ‘I do’, my husband-to-be and I visited our venue to have a catch up with their wedding co-ordinator.

“So what have you sorted out so far?” she asked briskly, with an air of friendly efficiency.

H2B and I looked at each other. Err… we’ve got the venue, and the dress?

Pause.

“It’s fine. You’ve got plenty of time,” she assured us, though there was a definite inference to the contrary.

As you may have surmised, H2B and I have – or at least had – a fairly relaxed attitude to weddings. Everyone tells you weddings can be stressful, but I had loftily thought that was just those planning lavish ceremonies with 200+ guests, flocks of ring-bearing doves and difficult mothers to appease.

I’d seen good friends, sensible friends, baulk under the pressure of choosing the right table linen. Yet still somehow I still thought it’d be a breeze. Turn up in a nice dress, say I do, and only make it as complicated as you want it to be, right? Then focus your energies into the happily ever after bit which, with all the fuss and frills, can seem in danger of getting overlooked.

But it turns out weddings are beasts. Beautiful, glittering and alluring beasts, but beasts nonetheless, with a will of their own. No matter how simple you try to keep everything (do your own flowers & invites, don’t bother with ‘favours’ – who really wants to carry a pot of homemade chutney around all night?) you’ll still end up falling into wedding Wonderland, puzzling and fretting over crockery, vases and other seemingly inconsequential details.

I was lately asked by our caterers whether we wanted dessert spoons and dessert forks, a dessert knife and fork, or just spoons? And who provides the glassware – the caterers or the venue? Just feed me, then let me dance.

Working out who’s actually coming to your wedding is a mini project in itself. You’re told, before you send out your invitations, that around 20{b486c5a37ab2d325d17e17d701cb2567b1ecd1814e8ceb33effa2a4f1f171d46} of those asked won’t be able to make it, which is fair enough – as long as they tell you.

I’d never, until now, appreciated the importance of the RSVP. As a guest at other people’s weddings, I’d probably been quite blasé about RSVP-ing, but no more. The groom shouting up the stairs: ‘Oh yeah, Dave and wassername are coming!’ does not count as an RSVP. Assuming we know that you’re coming does not count as an RSVP. Basically, you’re not getting a ‘Y’ next to your name on my spreadsheet (of course there’s a spreadsheet!) until I have a reply in writing, by the appointed date, stating your dining and accommodation preferences. Brides gotta be brutal.

Also, read your invite. We had an awkward moment when one guest replied saying they were looking forward to the ceremony – though they’d only been invited for the evening do.

Then there’s the hen do. Now I know it’s traditional for the bridesmaids to organise a total surprise for the bride, but here I’ve wandered off the path of tradition once more. Surprises are great, if they really are surprising. Thing is, I know I’m having a hen do: it’s not like I’d be sitting at home and all my bezzies would show up unannounced and whisk me away somewhere fun.

So rather than have no say, I did have a hand in choosing where we were going (glamping in Yorkshire!) and arranged one of the activities (again, we were racing against the clock here as a LOT of places were fully booked – cue slight panic). Then, when it got down to organising food, payment and transport (booo-ring), sensing more wedmin woes in the offing, I gladly handed it over to my maids. I think I’m getting the hang of this…

Chapter 3: All dressed up…

Designer dresses, from bridal boutiques, can take up to eight months to order in. Eight months! Did you know that? I didn’t.

But then wedding dress shopping is unchartered territory for most of us. Unless you’re a second-timer or a Disney princess, it’s likely most girls won’t have worn anything remotely like a wedding dress before, nor know much about how to shop for one. Allow me to share my findings.

For my first foray into the world of bridal dress shopping, I gathered two excitable mates and visited some of Cambridge’s beautiful dedicated bridal stores. They’re enchanting places, where everything is white, fluffy and sparkling, and a little bit awe-inducing.

My girlfriends sipped tea from china cups as I hopped in and out of gowns of all shapes and sizes, almost having to be airlifted out of one enormous, puffy number which stood up on its own. Good underwear (strapless bras or something white or nude) is a must, together with an apathetic attitude to flashing said undies.

I didn’t have eight months (I’m starting to see why people plan weddings a year in advance!) and though gorgeous, most gowns I tried came in at somewhere between £800-£2,000 – which I’d rather spend on a fabulous honeymoon, to be honest.

I quickly learned that outlets and bridal sales are the way to go for beautiful gowns that won’t cost a small fortune. It was in such a place (up North, over Christmas) that I found my dress, though naturally everything about that is a big secret… Finding The One isn’t always easy: I’d heard friends saying you’ll ‘just know’, but when faced with a choice, the one that makes your mum cry is probably the winner.

Keep an eye on websites and sign up to newsletters so shops can alert you about any upcoming end-of-season sales. Don’t forget the high street, either, where you’ll find lots of options for under £800. See Phase Eight, Coast, Monsoon and major department stores. Though the time of year matters hugely. I started looking in November and the pickin’s were seriously slim. Bridal ranges start arriving in early spring, in time for ‘wedding season’.

So girls, if you’re thinking of getting engaged, start hinting now!

:: Did you know, 21{b486c5a37ab2d325d17e17d701cb2567b1ecd1814e8ceb33effa2a4f1f171d46} of brides plan to wear two dresses on the day? For this and more fun facts, read: 10 things you didn’t know about wedding gowns

Chapter 2: Things you don’t know about getting married until you’re getting married

So it was that we came home from a burlesque party with our own wedding to plan. A romantic, proper proposal later and it was official: cue excited phonecalls and filling the house with wedding magazines.

It turned out Anstey Hall had a couple of summer dates available, so rather than wait the usual year or so, we found ourselves with eight months to make it happen. Which, in wedding terms, is apparently not long.

In fact there are lots of things you don’t know about getting married until you’re getting married. Here are my top five bridal insider revelations:

1. Pinterest is truly BRILLIANT. It’s full of gorgeous pictures of flowers, dresses, venue styling ideas… all terribly tasteful.

2. Designer dresses can take up to eight months to order in. Eight months! More on dresses in the next blog.

3. Sapphires aren’t always blue. Rather than charge my fiancé with the responsibility of picking the EXACT ring I would choose to wear for the rest of my life, I chose it myself. It’s actually an antique ring, repurposed with green sapphires. The green pigment is caused by the presence of iron and can be all shades, from yellow-green to deep blue-green. Sapphires can also be orange or pinky-red – when they become rubies.

4. You have to give notice of your intention to marry. The venue might be available, but it’s no good sending out your invites before you’ve checked that a registrar is available on that day, at your preferred time. Go to www4.cambridgeshire.gov.uk and book a meeting.

5. You have way more family than you thought you did. But as a rule 10-20{b486c5a37ab2d325d17e17d701cb2567b1ecd1814e8ceb33effa2a4f1f171d46} of people you invite won’t be able to make it, so send out the daytime invitations first then you can always bump up Great Aunt Flo if someone drops out. Just don’t tell anyone…

Chapter 1: The accidental bride

Most of the best things in life aren’t scheduled. How’s that five-year plan working out for you? Exactly. Life constantly throws wonderful, unexpected opportunities – and people – our way, and its seizing hold of these and running with them headlong into the unknown that makes living such an adventure.

When my partner and I arrived at a burlesque ball at Cambridge’s Anstey Hall last October we weren’t planning on getting married. We were in the midst of hunting (not very successfully) for our first house together having met three years ago on a press trip to Marrakech – something that almost certainly wouldn’t have happened if I’d pursued my original plan to work at an Edinburgh PR firm.

In fact, this Cinderella almost didn’t end up going to the ball. There’s a specific kind of gloom about finding yourself at Royston bus station on a drizzly October night, dressed in a sexy corset and heels, only to find that the last bus has already left. But having failed to go Neon Moon’s burlesque events twice before I was determined that, this time, no shoddy suburban bus service would stand in the way of me and some serious retro partying. We would drive and drink diet coke all night, and have a stupendous time.

And as it turns out, we did.

This particular Neon Moon event was a charity ball in aid of Mane Chance Sanctuary: a charity which helps care for abandoned or mistreated horses. Crunching up the dark gravel driveway in my grubby little Citroen we beheld the house’s grand façade, uplit dramatically by purple spotlights. Showgirls beckoned from the Georgian sash windows, a stilt-walker juggled flaming batons and an Oddjob lookalike greeted us at the top of the stone front steps. Inside, the main hall was a warm crush of people sipping Champagne in their finery. A chorus girl in feathery headdress brushed by, smiling. A lady with an albino snake charmed guests by the staircase. All was wonder and decadence.

The highlight of the evening was to be a charity auction, held after dinner in the venue’s wedding marquee, chaired by local rogue Jeffrey Archer (I sought him out beforehand to say hi and tell him my brother and I used to read his books – quickly changing the subject when he said, ‘Oh, I trust you still read them?’).

My partner Kris and I grabbed a pew on the poor journalists’ table at the back and enjoyed watching the grander guests slog it out over expensive holidays, jewellery and paintings. Then, looking further down the list of lots one caught our eye: Lot #8 – Win your Wedding at Anstey Hall.

As I’ve said, we weren’t planning on marrying. Neither of us are overly romantic, and while a wedding might be on the cards one day, getting a house was the priority and likely to soak up all our savings for the foreseeable. But still…

Glancing around the room, we noticed how most of the other guests appeared a) much older and b) already coupled up. Who else would be bidding for this? Catching each other’s eye, we realised we’d had the same thought. So when Lord Archer reached Lot #8, we thought, why not? A wedding here would clearly be spectacular, and if we could get it for a decent price, it’d be too good an opportunity to miss*.

So up went Kris’ hand. Jeffrey appealed for a rival bid – there was none. Presently he turned back to us, cracked the hammer and with a cry of ‘Sold!’ we were suddenly getting married!

*Good breeding dictates that I don’t give away exactly what we spent, but let’s just say it was a quarter of the going rate, while being enough to help lots of underprivileged horses.

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