The Wedding Diaries. Sam Binnie

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ on my nuptials.

      We spent the rest of our visit in the shop, wishing we could fill our homes with the prints, books and jewellery. While I chose a card for Dad’s birthday tomorrow, Eve (of course) singled out the most beautiful object from the whole shop: a simple plate with a fish design, which I instantly lusted after once she’d picked it up. That dame has great taste.

      November 27th

      There has got to be a catch to all of this. First unlikely event: Thom didn’t have to work this weekend. We visited both venues today, and Thom absolutely loved Redhood Farm. We got up at the crack of dawn to manage them both properly in one day, and arrived at Wingfield Manor as the light was fading in and the mist rolled over the land. It was really lovely, light and pretty inside but something about the décor made me feel like I should be marrying in an off-the-shoulder meringue while my sister weeps blue eyeshadow down her cheeks. Put it this way: I would have gone crazy for it when I was seven. But after a few more hours in the car (it turns out it is way too easy to get lost in Suffolk) Redhood Farm was – like the dress – what I’d always been looking for without realising that I’d been looking for anything at all. It was charming and scrappy, full of colour and life and thoughtfulness, but professional and lacking in any of those dangerous witty little signs some wedding venues offer that make me want to abolish marriage altogether (‘Make Way for the Mr & Mrs!’). It was aesthetically and emotionally everything I wanted for the day; laid-back, casual, gorgeous and unique. I knew we’d all feel comfortable here, every one of our friends and family, and Thom felt the same. The only thing he said, after taking me off to one side while the manager tried her best to look like she wasn’t listening in, was, ‘Are you sure this is the one you want? It’s a lot of money, and I want this to be right for us. Is this really what you want to spend this money on?’ I hugged him and said there was definitely no finer venue for us, and he smiled a bit. But to give him full credit, he didn’t even cry when he – second unlikely event – wrote the deposit cheque for £2,000, just signed his name (I did check) and handed it over with a friendly nod. I’m so happy. This is going to BLOW EVERYONE’S TINY WEDDING MINDS (or something more fitting for gentle virginal white).

      And on top of all that, it’s Polka Dot’s sales conference tomorrow. Fun times ahoy.

      TO DO:

      Block book accommodation locally – work out how many rooms we’ll need

      Make sure nicest rooms are reserved for Rowland & Fenella (Thom’s boss and the wife)

      Ceremony music – string quartet playing some Billy Joel?

      Start taking skin vitamins

      November 30th

      Holy moly! I know Sales teams are notoriously tough but I was not expecting that.

      For a company of thirty people (only ten of which are full-time), our ‘sales conference’ is really only a white wall, a projector and some presentations in a room over the Stuck Pig pub on the corner. It’s normally fairly high-spirited, as the people who don’t usually work in an office together break out of their cabin-fever and socialise with distant colleagues. Plus we had fresh blood in the form of Judy the Intern, keeping us on our toes as we all tried to behave like proper publishers. The bar staff come up every thirty minutes or so to top up our drinks, so by 3.30 it’s usually pretty ugly, but this year the drinks had been flowing faster than usual and the Sales team really had it in for our books. They’re a cynical bunch, hardened by years on the road without colleagues and convinced they are the lifeblood of Polka Dot, and they refuse to pull their punches when talking about our titles. It’s probably the only chance they’ll have to blow off some steam about books they may find are not their cups of tea – and normally nobody minds, since it does seem like quite a thankless task to explain to a bookshop owner how much they need the 500th incarnation of Angel Hamsters or I’ll Eat my Greens if You Don’t Lock Me in the Shed Again, Mummy – but there was something in the air this year which made them much meaner than anything I’d seen before. Simon, self-proclaimed ‘sales genius’ and completely hammered, was declaiming to the room about some of the garbage he had to sell (never nice for an editor to hear; they clamp their lips and pretend they’re thinking of something else), reeling off nasty joke after nasty joke about Jacki until I was digging my fingernails into my palms – just ignore him and he’ll shut up – when he suddenly laid into AutobiogRaffy. Laborious as the publishing of a niche memoir may be, that book is Carol’s baby and Simon really went to town on it, listing all the ways in which it was going to bomb. Carol’s face was getting redder and redder, but she didn’t say a word, just walked to the corner of the room, helped herself to a biscuit then busied herself tidying the books on the table at which Simon was perched.

      Then Simon said, ‘And books like that aren’t helped by having past-it clueless old jokes like Norman working our numbers in the back office.’ Carol turned to him for a moment, her face suddenly pale, before rearing back and pronouncing in her immaculate RP, ‘Simon, you really are an absolutely unbearable cunt.’ Carol then immediately burst into tears and Simon stood up, red-faced but un-bowed, still determined to prove once and for all that he was a prick. His audience turned away as one, and resolutely studied their printouts until Simon stopped drunkenly blustering and vomited down his Ted Baker suit. Carol kept crying until Judy led her away to the toilets and Tony declared we should probably leave it there for the day.

      Dan from the Art team, eyes slightly boggling, turned to me and Alice and said, ‘So that Carol – Norman thing is out in the open now?’ I squealed, and demanded to know how he knew. He said that after work one night, Norman had asked his opinion on the necklace he’d bought for Carol’s birthday, but sworn Dan to secrecy. I have got to start working late.

      TO DO:

      Find out if Redhood Farm have all their own tables, chairs, chair covers

      If not, look at rental prices for furniture that matches our colour scheme

      Pick a colour scheme

      First dance – choreograph?

      Clothes for ushers and best man – suits, ties, boutonnières, shoes, socks (forbid bright fashion/novelty socks) (unless in line with colour scheme)

      Organise tastings for wedding cake at different bakeries

      Arrange swearbox for Carol at the reception

      December’s Classic Wedding!

      Grace went out and bought a hat, and dressing for her wedding consisted in putting on this hat. As the occasion was so momentous she took a long time, trying it a little more to the right, to the left, to the back. While pretty in itself, a pretty little object, it was strangely unbecoming to her rather large, beautiful face. Nanny fussed about the room in a rustle of tissue paper.

      ‘Like this, Nan?’

      ‘Quite nice.’

      ‘Darling, you’re not looking. Or like this?’

      ‘I don’t see much difference.’ Deep sigh.

      ‘Darling! What a sigh!’

      ‘Yes, well I can’t say this is the sort of wedding I’d hoped for.’

      ‘I know. It’s a shame, but there you are. The war.’

      ‘A foreigner.’

      ‘But such a blissful one. Oh dear, СКАЧАТЬ