Week 33 - Laura - a childhood memory

“I really should have done a dry run of this in the rehearsal,” I think, flippantly, as I both hear and feel the Chantilly lace overlay of my wedding dress tear on the latch of the vestry window.

It's all very well knowing exactly how long it takes - in steps, actual time and bars of music - to walk up an aisle, but it’d be a whole lot more useful to me right now if I knew whether my five foot six inch frame could physically fit through this window. And if so approximately how long it might take to do so.

“It’s not like you didn't know weddings were a scary business,” I chide internally, as the memory of my first brush with matrimony pops into my head.

I was only five at the time. A damn sight younger than the paint that’s currently flaking off the shutters as blithely as I’d sailed past poor old Ben at the altar just now and getting cosy with the raw silk material the torn lace has exposed. I know they say rebound relationships don’t last, but I’m willing to bet even a Stain Devil won’t be separating those two anytime soon.

My brother and I were allowed to go to my uncle Mick’s wedding. I can’t for the life of me remember where it was. Dublin, I guess. Geography wasn’t my strongest subject back in the mid- to late-80s. Or a subject at all, actually.

All I can really remember about the day is shoulder pads and fear.

The bride’s nephew Nigel - an older man at the age of seven or so - took a shine to me. He told his dad he was going to marry me, and proceeded to spend the day chasing me - actually chasing me - around the wedding venue.

Either the adults didn’t notice what was happening or didn’t think me being hunted into an underage, forced marriage by a seven-year-old with coiffed blonde hair and a pink satin cumberbund was a priority.

I was running for my life though. I’m getting sweaty again just thinking about it.

“Maybe it’s not my fault,” I muse, trying to remember back to my first year psychology lectures in college.

“Maybe that early trauma set up some weird ass neural pathways or something, which mean that weddings scare the bejaysus out of me. And in this instance leave me with no option but to try and escape by attempting to squeeze my generously proportioned arse through this minuscule window."

Something’s happening!

“God bless sweat,” I rejoice, as I feel the window frame finally ease past my hips. “I think it’s effectively oiled me past the tipping point.”

And with that I fall in a happy heap on the gravel pathway that surrounds the church, only a borrowed car and a hotwire away from freedom.

Week 7 - Laura - Speech

Apologies for the absence. I blame it all on getting married. Speaking of, that’s what my “thing” is based on this week. I didn’t make a speech at my wedding for fear of turning that part of the day into a sentimental communal cry. Or worse, having an audience of about 160 as I blubbed my way alone through a tearful soliloquy. If I had made a speech, it would have focused on my new husband Sean (naturally), but also on my family, who got me to and through the day (which was amazing by the way) in the best shape possible. Ideally it might have gone a little like this…

Getting married teaches you a lot. One of the big lessons I suspect my sister Avril and I have taken from the whole process for example is that it’s very difficult to get sheet music for the Champions League theme tune.

In case you’re a bit confused, cast your mind back to the music I walked up the aisle to, speed it up and add in some choppier bass notes.

By the time we finally got our hands on the music Avril was already halfway through making it up herself, so now she can - without lying - say she composed some of the Champions League theme tune.

For learning two difficult new piano pieces, for spending half a day in a recording studio so she could provide the music as well as walk behind me as I made my way up and down the aisle, for keeping us all on track as we did our best with today’s hymns, for being our chauffeur from the church to the reception venue and a thousand other things, thank you Avril.

Avril totally had the music under control

Next up is my second-from-youngest sister Jean. Jean lives in the UK so missed most of the mad wedding preparations. She knew exactly what was going on however, because she got married herself to David only last August. Jean’s great to let off steam to, and many minutes were spent on the phone moaning about all sorts over the past few months.

Together with her husband David, Jean was responsible for one particularly significant detail in our wedding plans however. We all went over to Jean to get the bridesmaids’ dresses last October. In 45 minutes flat we had found what we needed and went home, delighted with ourselves.

Shortly after, Jean shared the great news that she was pregnant, with who in the context of today I’ll refer to as Challenge Bermingham!

Her original purple polka dot bridesmaid dress very quickly became a non-option. The shop couldn’t furnish us with another dress, and - of course - the material proved almost impossible to find.

Clearly we got around the issue (literally!) and I can’t wait to meet my new little nephew/niece to tell them all about their part in today. For that, for listening to me moan and for a thousand other things, thank you Jean, and David.

I've no photo of Jean and David together, but here's Jean singing away with Sean's sister (and my bridesmaid) Orla

My sister Christine is heading up Team Bridesmaids today. Christine got a new job in Kerry recently, and moved down there last week. We’re lucky - she doesn’t sound like Peig Sayers yet!

Christine took the reins in organising my hen. I won’t bore you with the details, but it included swing dresses and dancing, embarrassing stories, drinks, catch-ups and more tea than alcohol. Had I been arranging my own hen I couldn’t have done better. For that, for all the thoughtful things you noted that might help make today more personalised, for being my chief bridesmaid and for a thousand other things, thank you Christine.

Christine looking lovely in red polka dot during the wedding ceremony

I only have one brother. I think it’s because he’s all the brother any sister can cope with. Ah no, more seriously I think he’s such a good brother there’s no need for any more.

I’m going to give Glenn’s number out to everyone before they leave here today. No, not like that. He’s a happily married man. No, while Glenn is great for a number of reasons, one of his stand-out talents is his ability to challenge Google Maps when it comes to directions. Honestly, if you’re ever stuck just give him a shout, describe your surroundings and tell him how long ago you left home and where you were heading for. Google Maps might tell you to take a left after 2.5km for example. Glenn will further tell you that the left turn is just after a bend to the left that comes just after a dormer bungalow on the right hand side that’s painted a pale yellow and has a blue VW Bora parked in the driveway.

Glenn did a cracking job as usher in the church, and as general gofer here. For that, for reading a lesson and for a thousand other things, thank you Glenn.

Glenn reading a lesson during the ceremony

I might just mention Glenn’s wife Isla at this point. I usually stay in Longford on Monday nights. For the past number of months Isla has sent me off to work on Tuesday morning with a packed lunch. She was also integral in sourcing the purple polka dot material - with polka dots of exactly the right size - for Jean’s new dress, and she willingly mucked in to help with all the pre-wedding day tasks that had to be done over the past few days.

Which brings me on to my Mam, Joyce.

The super talented Joyce Ryder!

As a little girl I always loved hearing the story of how my Mam made her own wedding dress. Now if I was to have done the same I’d be wearing a dress with staples today, by necessity rather than design. So, shortly after Sean and I got engaged I asked my Mam if she’d take on making my wedding dress.

I think you’ll agree she’s done an amazing job. To continue the homemade theme, the crochet flowers in my hair and my beautiful blue shawl were made by my gran. Neither my Mam nor my gran are shoemakers unfortunately, so I got my friend Jimmy Choo to help me out with those.

My dress turned out better than I even imagined.

For my dress, for helping to make our wedding cake along with Sean’s Mam Teresa, for our Tuesday morning walks, for your support and guidance and a thousand other things, thank you Mammy.

Sean is the main man today, but my Dad Victor gets more than an honourable mention. My Dad and I are very close, so the start of today was a bit stressful for both of us. Now’s probably a good time to apologise for snapping “Don’t be asking me questions like that now” at him when he innocently inquired in the car on the way to the church how I was feeling.

My dad Victor, enjoying an ice-cream after a stressful wedding morning

Suffice to say that rather than losing a daughter you’re gaining a son. And we have our work cut out if we stand any chance of turning him into a culchie. I’d also like to reassure you that I’ll still be looking to you when the oil in our car needs changing and other stuff like that.

And finally to Sean.

I’ve known Sean almost four years, and I’ve loved him for about three and a half of those years. We’ve had challenges though, arguably the biggest of which was when I moved from Dublin to Tullamore for work.

Now Sean has lots of things going for him, but his phone manner isn’t one of them. Living relatively far away during the week, I’d call a couple of evenings in the week for a catch up and maybe to hear him tell me that he missed me or loved me. Instead, I’d end up feeling like a cold caller trying to sell him an unwanted set of encyclopedias or something. Coupled with the fact that Sean doesn’t believe in overusing the phrase “I love you”, we were in a bit of a pickle.

We solved it with the introduction of Love Bomb™. Love Bomb is a game I learned on the Trans-Siberian train back in 2005. From Moscow to Irkutsk my friends Andy, Sinead, Sam and I shared a carriage with two Dutch pirates whose names I can’t remember and two Swedish guys called Yani and Thomas. Thomas fancied my friend Sinead but was shy about it, so he introduced this game called Love Bomb whereby we’d pass around compliments.

If I was sitting next to Andy I might tell him that he really pulled off the weird fleece we chose for him in Uniqlo. Andy might continue by telling Thomas next to him that he liked how sociable he was with strangers for example and then Thomas might tell Sinead she was beautiful.

So in 2011 I resurrected Love Bomb. Any time I needed to, I’d ask Sean for a love bomb and we both went away happy.

I thought nothing would be more fitting than sharing a few love bombs about Sean today.

Sean trusts me 100 per cent. He’s calm and calming, he’s comfortable in himself, he keeps me grounded, he’s generous and he gets on well with my family. I love how he cooks me dinner every so often, but I also love how he makes sure to thank me for every meal I make for us. I both love and hate his neatness. I love his love for football, which sometimes extends to watching Yeovil FC or some other such team late at night. I love how he waits to watch episodes of How I Met Your Mother, New Girl and Modern Family with me. I love that he loves me.

And today, how can I but love how sharp he looks in his beautiful suit.

Sean looking sharp!

I’ve spoken for long enough so I won’t go into the spin-off game I’ve since introduced called Development Bomb™. You can keep that in mind for your own relationships, but perhaps as you raise a glass now you might turn to your neighbour and give them a little love bomb to brighten up their day.

To love!

We did it!