I woke up in the early hours of this morning to hear the rain gently pouring down outside the window, tapping windows and leaves wherever it fell.
It seemed apt, because exactly twelve years ago today, I also woke up in the early hours of the morning to hear the rain gently pouring down.
Mr IKINTST and I were married exactly twelve years ago today, on the shores of Lake Ullswater, deep in the heart of the Lake District. We lived many hundreds of miles away, but chose to make the trek to the Lakes because it is, in my view, one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
Our wedding day was soggy, and grey, and somewhat chaotic. I have a knack of bringing chaos to the most well planned of occasions.
I woke up at 7am, still drunk, due to an ill thought out decision to stay up until 1am on the morning of my wedding drinking champagne with a small group of course friends. This meant my first act on the day itself was to get into the bath clutching a can of Red Bull. Keeping it classy.
I was almost late to my own wedding, having relied on my BFF – who is total amazeballs, but reliably late for just about everything he does – for wedding transportation across the Lakes from the house where we were staying that morning.
Mr IKINTST forgot to bring the £3 for the wedding certificate and we had to have a whip round of the guests.
One of my other friends phoned twenty minutes before the ceremony started to ask where we all were. Turned out, he’d managed to go to the wrong venue. On the other side of the Lakes. Somehow, he managed to coerce a willing taxi driver who clearly moonlighted for The Stig in his spare time to do the forty minute journey to the wedding venue in twenty minutes, for less than half the price it should have cost, all the while with a strange man changing into his wedding suit in the back of the taxi as they shot across the Kirkstone Pass. (Google it, and be glad that you too weren’t on that taxi journey 😄)
Mr IKINTST and I got told off by the registrar – who was practically a carbon copy of Delores Umbridge from the Harry Potter books – for kissing each other before the service had even started.
My BFF, who is a sensationalist pianist, had offered to play for us. He did so with a sick bucket at his feet, having spent the previous hours projectile vomiting. (He also did so with a Diet Coke on top of the piano, which for reasons I still don’t understand to this day, the hotel staff had elected to decant…into a gravy boat. As you do.)
The CD during the service skipped to the wrong track, so at what should have been a calm and tranquil moment as we signed the register, to a soundtrack of Renée and Georgette Magritte and Their Dog After The War by Paul Simon… You Can Call Me Al came blasting out instead.
I sat down for dinner and went: “Fuck. Table favours. Probably should have thought about them.” (I shouldn’t. Table favours are, at 99% of all weddings I have ever attended, pointless shite. But I should at least have considered this prior to the wedding and made an active decision to discount them, as opposed to simply forgetting them.)
I ended up tucking the table cloth into my wedding dress to avoid hurling gravy down it.
The lower half of my wedding dress was so huge and so heavy, that when we finally excused ourselves to go to bed, my first words to my new husband were not some romantic overtures, but instead: “Oh my god, my legs are sweating more than legs have ever sweated in my life.”
So it was not the ‘perfect’ wedding day, by any stretch of the imagination. And yet it was. It was perfect, because I got to marry the love of my life, with all of our family and friends surrounding us. And really, what could be more perfect than that?
My wedding day, as it turned out, was an accurate foreshadow of our relationship to come. Because it has not been perfect. It has been chaotic, and mad, and occasionally stressful. Sometimes we’ve sighed, and sometimes we’ve cried, and sometimes we’ve just thrown our hands up in the air and not known what to do with ourselves.
But that’s what relationships are like. They aren’t perfect. You have to work at them. Sometimes you get it right, and sometimes you don’t. And that’s okay. The very best relationships are worth working at. The very best relationships are perfect in their imperfections.
Happy, happy twelfth wedding anniversary, Mr IKINTST. Thanks for loving me, sweaty legs and all. Can’t wait to toast you with a shot of Diarolyte and piece of dry toast tonight, because nothing says true love like the couple that vomits together ❤️❤️❤️