To believe or not to believe?

I have always been somewhat of a sceptic when it comes to the unknown. Don't get me wrong, I am terrified of the thought of paranormal activity, would run a mile if someone asked me to do a Ouiji board and have always been just a little uneasy watching Ghostbusters. But I have never been convinced that it's not a just a state of mind- we see and believe what we want to and nothing else. So when a good friend of mine told me about a pyschic who was so accurate it was hard not to keep the goosebumps at bay, I decided I would part with my hard earned cash, book a session and kill the cynic in me once and for all.
It started today with me arriving at the psychics house to be greeted by a petite blond woman with a tan to rival David Dickinson. Cascades of charm bracelets graced her frail arms and aside from the too-tight-leggings, she looked relatively harmless. She advised me I had to drink a cup of Greek coffee so she could read my coffee cup afterwards. Watching her boil the dark brown liquid in a golden minature saucepan I couldn't help but stare intently in case a little sedative went in so I wouldn't quite remember... (and also wonder if I had just stumbled in to a 2010 version of Hansel and Gretel).
Soon enough I was drinking the liquid which quite frankly, tasted like I imagine the bottom of the kittens litter tray does. Starting with the Tarot cards, I watched as she flipped them over, telling me how I was loved, how changes were on the way and how I was feeling a little stressed. I have an extremely expressive face and you certainly didn't need to be a pyschic to see I was less then impressed. Who isn't stressed? Who doesn't want to hear that changes are on the way? After all, if everything was perfect with my life why would be hankering after clues to my future? After ten minutes I was starting to think I had proved myself right and could smugly go back to work declaring fraud. When she asked me if I could see the tortoise in the remains of the coffee I'd drunk I almost choked. Then rather randomly she started asking who was the person with the initial "J". She then correctly announced my sisters name, advised me of how close we are in age and constantly kept referring to my deceased Grandma. She expressed concerns my Grandma always had about me, how she died and even described something of hers that I have. Next came my dad's name and the fact that I was a writer! (Apparently I have a Chinese Philopsher watching over me and he wants me to write a novel as it will be a success. I will obviously include this in my covering letter to future publishers... what more security could they need??!). On followed referalls to my finances (or lack of) and the notion that in a matter of time she could only refer to as "3", everything would settle down. Just under 3 months to the big day!
Trust me, this lady only ever had my first name and I refused to answer her with anything other than a "Hmmm" or an "OK".
I can't say I'm completely converted, after all, I would do anything to believe I have a Guardian Angel watching over me in the shape of a beloved grandparent. But I definitely left there with a tingle up my spine and certainly a stronger belief that we are most definitely NOT alone....

Wine for breakfast? Only at a wedding....

If there's one part of the planning of the wedding I've been especially looking forward to, it happened this weekend. Wine and food tasting at the venue, complete with chauffeurs in the form of real, responsible adults (parents).
With just under 3 months to go, we journeyed from the sunny south of England up to my home town of Manchester where, you guessed it, the skies looked thunderously grey, ready to loosen our jeans and pick the wedding breakfast meal! I knew I shouldn't have devoured the tempting crusty bread roll that lay innocently on my right .... however as a valid member of Carboholics Anonymous, it was always going to happen. Once the food started appearing and I watched the waitress narrowly miss dripping turkey gravy on my mum's skirt and wobble roast potatoes over people's drinks, I couldn't help a little flutter of nerves at the massive task of ensuring all our 90 guests would be fed and watered at the same time. Obviously, I'm sure my fears are all completely irrational, venues host weddings everyday of the week... plus I seriously doubt I'll be worrying about who got served the sugar snap peas first on the actual day.

Next came the wine, lo and behold out pops 8 glasses of red and white wine, each resting on a napkin dictating the brand and more importantly, the price. Starting with the cheapest, we passed the glasses around the table, all 7 of us taking a sip and pretending to be the wine connoisseurs we most definitely are not. For me, if I didn’t wretch or hold my nose, it was a winner. For my dad, if he could smell the sweet scent of more money wafting through the grapes, it was struck off the list. We finally settled on an extravagant white and a more reasonable red (the basis being that everyone will drink the white first and then be relatively intoxicated enough not notice!). Needless to say, not wanting to show the unlucky wine's any disrespect, my fiance and I managed to work our way through the remaining glasses...

Veils, vows and a celebratory chuckle...

As the days quickly slip on by in a blur of work, TV and ironing (ok, that last one is a lie, I never iron if I can help it. Replace it with running. Or blogging. Both of which make me sound much less lazy), I can't quite believe it's only 11 weeks until I become Mrs Gregory. After 2 years of blissful engagement, on October 10 at 12:30 I will leave behind my "Miss" status and cross firmly over the line in to the grounds of a married woman. The entire event seems such a mature thing to do, I'm nervous I'll start giggling like a flirty schoolgirl as I walk down the aisle. (This often occurs in the most inappropriate of situations.... I won't tell you what once happened during a minute's silence in a busy office but suffice to say it involved fits of uncontrollable laughter, looks of utter disgust and lunch times alone for a VERY long time....)

Anyway, lets assume I make it down the aisle without needing oxygen/wine and/or stumbling over my own size 8's. The next challenge is to actually say the right words and not stand gaping like a suffocating trout. Trying to keep my voice on an even keel and not wibble or wobble when the tears start (I already know there is no escaping that and am currently searching for an industrial strength mascara- recommendations welcome!) will be so hard that I might forget what I'm supposed to be pledging and quite possibly could start reciting my two times table.

Despite being 29 years old when I actually wed, I'm still convinced I will see my 12 year old self in the mirror, all caterpillar eye-browed and puppy fat faced. When shopping for my wedding dress, it was so surreal to be being heaved and wedged in to these beautiful creations that it almost felt like I was back in the carnival playing the part of Cinderella and collecting 2p's for charity.

I am sincerely hoping that I have the ability to remain composed when I catch my best friends eye or notice that the Registrar has spinach stuck in their front teeth.... but I wouldn't stake my 3 tiered sponge on it!