Thanks to Jane Opposite, I’ve found a caterer and she is – deep joy! – free on Saturday 30 June. All the other places I’ve tried have been fully booked, with one cheeky whippersnapper (she sounded about 12) telling me that they take bookings a year in advance. Jane was watering her pansies out the front this morning when Janey drew up in her Honda, Nelly Furtado blaring out of the stereo. “Have you found a caterer yet or what?” she bellowed over Maneater. Slithering from behind the wheel, Janey was wearing less than I wear to go to bed in. What appeared to be a sheer blue cot sheet covered her lithe form and clumpy heeled shoes dangled off her stick thin legs. She looked like Barbie’s anorexic sister.
Anyway, Jane heard me bemoaning the fact that every small catering company in south east London was fully booked and she came over to offer me Manuela’s number “She’s Spanish but don’t half do a good spread” Jane said, eyeing up my cousin and smoothing down her own outfit (leopard print top and white jeans). I’ve just rang Manuela who sounded delighted to be asked. I’m meeting her tomorrow to discuss the menu, Janey can’t make it as she’s having her umpteenth dress fitting but told me that she trusted my opinion. Nice to be trust isn’t it. By your own family.
They’ve decided on a Daimler to pick the bride up – the Chairman of Darren’s football club has offered his for the day, with the reserve goalkeeper offering to be chauffeur. Darren’s savings have been eaten up already and there’s only just enough in the budget to pay for Manuela if I discreetly lose a few of the wilder ideas from the buffet. A whole wild salmon is not really necessary and neither is the exorbitant cost of an ice sculpture. You’re looking at a hundred quid before the guy has even got his chisel out. Janey wanted a lifesize footballer taking a penalty. She’ll end up with Charlie being creative with a pile of fruit. So The Groom is looking for a sponsorship deal to help out with the costs. Not Hello, nor OK, not Heat or Womans Weekly – he’s touting round “his contacts” to see what he can do. It's just a shame that he rubs his nose and winks unattractively whenever he says that.
So, apparently, it's "sorted". All I need to do is design an Order of Service booklet and include the names and adverts of all the people contributing. I’ve got Dave’s Disco “all the tunes your feet could want!” on page two along with a list of phone numbers to reach him on. For this, he’s only charging a “couple of ponies” for the reception. And is bringing his "mahoosive glitter ball" with him as an added bonus.
Anyway, Jane heard me bemoaning the fact that every small catering company in south east London was fully booked and she came over to offer me Manuela’s number “She’s Spanish but don’t half do a good spread” Jane said, eyeing up my cousin and smoothing down her own outfit (leopard print top and white jeans). I’ve just rang Manuela who sounded delighted to be asked. I’m meeting her tomorrow to discuss the menu, Janey can’t make it as she’s having her umpteenth dress fitting but told me that she trusted my opinion. Nice to be trust isn’t it. By your own family.
They’ve decided on a Daimler to pick the bride up – the Chairman of Darren’s football club has offered his for the day, with the reserve goalkeeper offering to be chauffeur. Darren’s savings have been eaten up already and there’s only just enough in the budget to pay for Manuela if I discreetly lose a few of the wilder ideas from the buffet. A whole wild salmon is not really necessary and neither is the exorbitant cost of an ice sculpture. You’re looking at a hundred quid before the guy has even got his chisel out. Janey wanted a lifesize footballer taking a penalty. She’ll end up with Charlie being creative with a pile of fruit. So The Groom is looking for a sponsorship deal to help out with the costs. Not Hello, nor OK, not Heat or Womans Weekly – he’s touting round “his contacts” to see what he can do. It's just a shame that he rubs his nose and winks unattractively whenever he says that.
So, apparently, it's "sorted". All I need to do is design an Order of Service booklet and include the names and adverts of all the people contributing. I’ve got Dave’s Disco “all the tunes your feet could want!” on page two along with a list of phone numbers to reach him on. For this, he’s only charging a “couple of ponies” for the reception. And is bringing his "mahoosive glitter ball" with him as an added bonus.
The Chairman of Darren’s football club runs a bookies and he’s taken out a half page ad on page 3 to encourage people to lose their shirts at his establishment as well as details on how to hire out his Daimler should you so wish. Crosses Cabs are putting in a “couple of hundred” if guests are encouraged, via an add in the Order of Service booklet, to use their service to get from the church to the reception and home afterwards. A company called Drinks and Things – run by Les, an old friend of Darren – is donating enough alcohol to ensure that all those guests who drive will be unable to find their cars, let alone drive them, therefore sending them phonewards with the number for Crosses Cabs in their little mitts. Heavenly Hair and Nails are donating their services to the bride and bride’s mother if guests are shunted in their direction – I’ve already booked in for a wash and blowdry on the Friday before.
As you can imagine, Janey is getting great pleasure out of dropping the word "sponsored" into every conversation she has about the wedding and she's dropping huge (and incorrect) hints as to who is contributing. She’s making Dave’s Disco sound like the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. She’s also more than a bit peeved with me. “We’re doing all the work here!” she screeched down the phone at me yesterday afternoon. “You’re the Wedding Planner – plan something!”
As you can imagine, Janey is getting great pleasure out of dropping the word "sponsored" into every conversation she has about the wedding and she's dropping huge (and incorrect) hints as to who is contributing. She’s making Dave’s Disco sound like the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. She’s also more than a bit peeved with me. “We’re doing all the work here!” she screeched down the phone at me yesterday afternoon. “You’re the Wedding Planner – plan something!”
So I have. I’ve written everything down in my pink wedding planner folder – Darren is never off the sodding phone to me making sure I’ve got all the “details pukka, babe” – and am in the process of negotiating with a florist. According to Saskia who found her through a colleague at work, she’s a fantastic arranger of flowers who will not only attend on the day to coddle the bouquet but she’s cheap as well!
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