White Wedding

What a day. I feel completely secure in publicly declaring the wonderful wedding of the fabulous couple, Max and Helen, as an utter, hiccup-free success. Except for that time I slipped down the stairs. That was a bit of a hiccup. But I recovered quickly, with my glass of gin and something or other barely scathed. And that's the main thing, isn't it? Regrettably, I barely got a sober word with the bride and groom throughout the event, and won't do again before I leave back to Australia, as they're now on their honeymoon. Watching them mingle and laugh their way through the day slash evening was a good compromise, however. I don't think I've ever seen two happier people. The thought's crossed my mind that perhaps that was because they got away with only having to converse with me for five minutes tops but let's not go there. Again.

Also, I'm fully aware that I'm going straight to hell for taking photographs in a 'Please no photographs' church but you know what? No. Wait. That's all. Hell. Yep, can't really argue with God can you? Because, you know, last time I checked I couldn't have an argument with a unicorn either. And I did check. He point blank refused to acknowledge me. Waving that horn about, eating grass, flying all around the place. Arsehole (that's directed at the unicorn, not God. God doesn't have an Arsehole. He's HOLY.)



We all positively stuffed our faces at the reception mostly courtesy of Emma (below, with her husband Ford), who made not only brownies but oh-my-honey-cake.



Post-cake, we hopped on a coach to the next village over; a quaint little place with no street lights. Don't ask me how they walk home at night. I suspect they are all anti-vampires (like anti-christs but not), and that they will explode into flames if they go out at night. And when you have anti-vampires flamin' up everywhere, who needs street lights?

We were asked to detail a wish for the couple and hang it on the apple tree which was soon to be planted in their garden. If I'm completely honest, I don't actually remember what I wrote but I do remember distinguishing myself from the other Emma (who is known as Captain), by explaining that I was merely the co-pilot (a position which, in retrospect, has nothing to do with captains or ships), a fact which would have been quite obvious no doubt sans explanation, if only by my overzealous use of 'awesome' and 'like'. I'm pretty sure I broke the world record for the number of times 'awesome' was used in a wish.

Bobby had to do a reading and he was SHITTING his pants. Not literally of course, that would be disgusting. It went down a treat however (the reading, not the shitting) and was followed by the best men's speech (below). Ford, Ben and Ryan - the three best men - charmingly chattered away, humorously following a 'Speeches for Dummies' (or something to that effect) paperback.

Wonderfully feathered hat and patent heels were a few quid from Scope (a charity shop),
the glomesh little bag I found in another cluttered charity shop in Eastbourne,
the dress I made (sans pattern) from some fabric we found in Berlin
and the patent bow I hand made.

Although I feel that it hardly needs to be said, given the photos and the nature of the party, I had the most brilliantly wonderful time at the absolutely amazing event and I wish the now-married couple the world. That's right, THE WORLD.

Marry Song

I finished sewing my dress! Alright, almost finished sewing my dress. I might add a ruffle or two. Unfortunately it has no scalloping, ribbon or netting and it's very simple, on par with my very basic sewing skills, however it's certainly asymmetrical and I can confirm that it billows, bubbles and blows. I shan't spoil the surprise for those joining me at the upcoming wedding but in lieu of photographs of my Frankenstein-like creation, here are a few pictures from Guy and Mae's beautiful wedding which we went to in Sydney in the warmer half of February. Wylie's baths provided the perfect backdrop to the spectacular event.

The dress was vintage, setting me back only $1 from a charity store, the shoes and handbag also thrifted.
The head piece is my great grandmothers, from the 1920s, I believe.

Darn, I just realised I'll probably have to shave my legs (the dress is certainly not the floor length kind), another month and I could have platted the hairy hair on my legs. C'est la vie. I learnt that phrase from B*witched. I surprise myself by how cultured I am sometimes.

Baby's Coming Back Home.

Actually, baby IS back home. 'Erm... Why are you referring to yourself as baby?', you might ask. Well, Baby Spice's real name is Emma and MY name is Emma and you see the connection? I think the more important question is why am I referring to myself in third person. And, my friend, you've missed your chance to ask that.

Back to the pressing point of this post, I'M BACK IN ENGLAND AFTER MY THREE WEEK TRIP AROUND GERMANY AND SPAIN. Did that deserve capitals? Ryanair and their £2 flights would probably argue no. Me and my Australianism however, say YES YES YES (or rather, oi oi oi). I'm yet to upload my photos onto the big old computer but once I do, I'll be posting away (read: one or maybe possibly two posts).

Right now, I have more important things to do, like work on my pattern for a dress for a wedding we're going to in August. I picked up some super super cheap fabric at a Turkish market in Berlin. It's all light blue and yummy. Thus far all I have a few quick sketches and dreams of scallopping, netting, billowing, a bare shoulder or two and ribbon.


To be honest, the whole concept changes every hour or so. If, come August, all I have is a mess of material to show for myself, don't be surprised if all you find is photos of me floating around in a rubbish bag.