be personal / real weddings / {plan be}

{Plan Be} Part two. Saturday. We made a wedding.

quote seems lisacongdonWaking up that Saturday morning was alarming.  Suffering bad bad disco-pain {was I even disco-ing last night?} and realising that Bunkhouse no.1 was full of yellow-bellied, hungover, good-for-nothings, I stumbled over to Bunkhouse 2, grabbed the sister with both hands and ran across the squelchy grounds to assess the damage, in a Be Eventful fashion.
Trying with all my might to pretend that the sodden, puddled, muddy tent, on the sodden, puddled, muddy field, was not my own wedding venue, but that of a client, who had utter faith in the sister and I problem-solving our way out of the bog and into a pretty wedding, fit for all the fun, love and photographs one would expect at such an event.
Eh… biggest challenge to date.
Not easy with a hangover like the one slapping me aboot the face that morning.
Making a cup of tea can be daunting in this state, never mind making a fecking wedding.  But before Bell the Mum could arrive and say “It’s no one’s fault but your own..”, I shook me unshakey, clad myself in the trusty old converse and, yup, a big jumper, and got busy.

The rain was off.  Ish.  But the marquee had taken a hit in the weather.  Oh we definitely had some weather.  But it just needed a bit of T{ent}LC.   It needed, Gok Wan’d.  Get some colour on that drab looking thing and put a bloomin’ smile on it’s face.  We’re getting married in this miserable looking sod of a venue.  We want a tent confident enough to drape itself, starkers, in a friggin’ shop window.  Mop that badboy up!
The tables were to be assembled and arranged.  The benches were to be assembled and arranged.  It was time to get the helpers assembled and arranged.


It was all hands on uneven-wet-deck.

We were a day behind schedule.  We were wet.  We were men down.  And we were excited.

And so the morning, then afternoon, sped past, an Uncle and Brother-in-law power tooling anything needing power-tooling, nieces rolling napkins, laddies peelin’ tatties, girls sewing pompoms, Bell the Mum watching over their shoulder ready to step in if the wool came loose {God forbid}, sisters sorting flowers and unpacking cheese, a Groom making more stovies than we now realise he needed to, our Be-helper Jen making sense of the puzzle that was our table plan, garlands being hung, puddles being mopped, fabric being cut, string being tied, tempers being lost, hugs being given, BBQs being lit, cars being reparked, benches being moved, flooring being laid, Tesco being delivered.
It was all a-go. Ah ga do.

c&j-473Part of me would love to look back on the days before our day, and see them as a fun-filled, calm and relaxing time of pre-wedding shenanigans, and time spent with my nearest and dearest, drinking and eating BBQs in the sun, taking pictures and getting excited for the Sunday.  But, because life is like it is, and you can’t control the weather, and these things are sent to try you, etc, etc, etc, I did spend a fair few hours, stressed, feeling panicky, wondering why we had choosen to have such a DIY day.  Why hadn’t we hired the nearest version of ourselves that we could find?  Why did we decide to do EVERYTHING ourselves?  Why, oh why, did it have to rain?  HOW were we going to catch up?  It was one of those days with many moments of doubt.  Anguish.  Would I go as far as to say despair?  But note the word ‘moments’.  That’s all they were.  Wee, short, moments.
Those two days WERE fun-filled shenanigans spent with my nearest and dearest.  We WERE excited for the Sunday.  We DID drink and have a BBQ.  We just did so, in the pissing rain.  Later at night than planned.  And don’t have any photographs.  Only memories.

Memories of standing in the rain smoking a cigarette with Mr D, watching the men of my family cook food on a barbeque outside whilst getting soaked by the rain, and laughing about it.  Watching my sisters drink gin and dance around the kitchen.  Watching other family members driving all the way up the dirt track road, on the cruddiest night, just to see us and our wedding venue and eat gumbo together.  Even the Canadians, who’s bags were lost in transit and all they had were the shorts and hoodies they wore to fly, but who still managed to be excited for our big day.  Watching my Mum spend time with her family, who all live so far away.  Watching our friends mingle with each other, playing jenga and drinking yards of beer, badly, and being pals.  Watching old workmates arrive and get stuck right in to decorating, with beers in their hands and smiles on their faces.
All of it.

Standing there, with my almost husband, smoking cigarettes in the rain, with bags under our eyes and big jumpers on.

It was our wedding weekend.

And we were almost married…


{hand-lettering by Lisa Congdon  & image credit to Caro Weiss Photography}


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