Post Wedding Exhaustion, Bouquet Transportation and Stripey Hair

*Huge exhaustive sigh* What a weekend. Wedding number two of my wedding packed year. From Friday: travelling there, rehearsing the main event, decorating the reception area, tying ribbons on all the order of services (135) and gluing together the seating plan. To Saturday: Hair, make-up, Bridesmaid duties, photos, hymn singing, attempting not to cry as they sign the register and partying the day away (with just a few bottles of champers and gin punch consumed....) .To Sunday: Tidying and sweeping and de-wedding the reception venue, to Mojitos and more amazing food and cake for the day after reception and the long journey home. It's official, they're married and I'm exhausted!

Congratulations of course to the new Mr and Mrs A, though I will inevitably have some issues with LA as I'm so used to LC. I'll get there eventually, I just can't deal with change and there's already been a lot of it this year, with plenty more to come.

Anyhoo, if this weekend has taught me anything, it's how much I've been in denial about my grey hairs. No, there are not just a few stray ones poking out of my parting. No, no. There are loads of them, infiltrating little bitches! And some of them are more silvery and they shine and shimmer, catching the light, making them even more obvious. Thanks for that. I also feel like I have to apologise for them at every turn, like I am somehow making the world more unpleasant for everyone by existing with my dead hairs. So, when the hairdresser had finished my braided up do, all I could see were the horrifically white/grey/shimmering threads and not the beautiful - I could never do it in a month of Sundays - hair do. Apologies also for that as it really was a great job done and my hair looked awesome. I guess I'm just destined to die my hair forever more.

This weekend has also taught me that being in the middle of nowhere in a tiny village, staying in a cute country Inn does not mean you'll be getting a quiet night's sleep. Oh no.Not when the bar beneath you becomes a freakin' club till about 2am. Really? Are you frickin' kidding me?

I wouldn't mind (though of course I do so that's not true) but it was in a residential area with lots of families. You'd think the locals would have something to say about it. Or maybe they just have quadruple glazing on the windows, as opposed to single glazing. It felt like the drunken youths outside were in the room with us. And even in London, a lot of the pubs have signs that say you can't drink outside after 11, to have respect for the neighbours and such. A courtesy they don't extend to in the country. Needless to say, we didn't get much sleep either night, but who needs sleep when you have three days of hard work and partying?????

Biggest discovery of the weekend had to be that I pull ridiculous faces when dancing. I hate to be serious and I hate photos, so I pull insane faces and then complain that I look shit on all the photos. I guess the only plus being that it's too dark to see the grey hairs and I don't appear to look fat on any of them. It's a small win, but I'll take it.

It was a fabulous wedding and of course the bride looked like a vision of heavenly perfection; the men smart and handsome in their suits and the guests a wash of colour and print, of prom dresses and fascinators. The bubbly bubbled and flowed much longer than anyone thought it would and thanks to the wonderful guys who kept coming round for the refills. I swear I'm hiring one for round here. "I just finished a chapter...hit me with a finger." (of bubbly, in my glass, you dirty, dirty people). The speeches were incredible! So funny and honest and rife with stories and love for the Bride and Groom. But of course, the best part by far was the first dance which was infiltrated by 12 of their friends (me included). Group dance!!!!! To 'Can you Feel It' Micheal Jackson. We had rehearsed for two weeks previous and we rocked the house! Best 1min 37secs ever! Watch out Youtube. We're going viral. Ha ha.

And so to my tip of the wedding: Bouquet transportation. I wanted to take my beautiful posy home with me, but of course didn't want the flowers to die, so Saturday night they sat in a mug of water in the hotel and then Sunday before checkout they were transferred to an empty cereal bag (from those tiny individual packs of cereal) with water in, which I tied with a bobble. Then to keep them remotely upright I placed them in the 'fruit and fibre' box and in the side pocket of my rucksack; where they stayed for the afternoon reception; the taxi ride to the station; the train journey back to London; the bus journey to Camden and the short walk home. And now they sit in a vase looking as wonderful (ish) as they did on Saturday.

So there you have it, the ultimate way to transport flowers. Though I didn't say they fell over a couple of times on the train and spilled water, but that's mainly because I thought they would sit better on the table of the train. It turns out I was wrong. After getting my jeaned leg soaked twice I told them off and put them back in the rucksack. *taps head* Not just a breeding ground for grey hairs.

And so it's back to normality. No nightclub beneath me. Double glazed windows. And another Wedding over. Here's to the Happy Couple as they saunter through 35 degree Tuscany on their honeymoon. And here's to a week of tax returns (damn self-employed me); researching agents; attempts at synopsis writing; plucking up the courage to send by book to T to read and productively fun music classes.

Over and out.