My mum-in-law cooked a delicious dinner of roast pork (plum pork, of course) with gravy and apple sauce and as well as much wine, the evening was filled with talk of the forthcoming nuptials, inevitably evoking memories of our own wedding and all the delights and dilemmas that accompanied the planning of it.
Married in our garden at the farm, it is fair to say that our wedding was a pretty informal occasion in as much as we did away with the church, official photographer, line-up and wedding favours elements of the wedding. And in much the same way that I embrace a new business venture with all its branding, I embarked on an all-out cow theme for our wedding.
My friends Sarah and Morn created stunning cow print invitations tied with udder-pink ribbons; old milk churns flanked the entrance to the marquee; all the tables were named after cow breeds and bedecked in white linen topped with black-and-white cow print velvet, and rare roast beef was a centre piece of the wedding buffet.
I had also set my heart on an Italian-style tier of marzipan apples, my favourite local confectionery from Harry Gow the Bakers, instead of wedding cake. Since childhood, I have absolutely adored these glorious little 'apples' with their melting buttery centre sheathed in soft, toothsome marzipan dyed Granny Smith-green blushed with pink, complete with a clove for the stalk.
But the farmer, who had happily gone along with everything else I had planned, was less convinced. ‘It’ll get to the end of the wedding and people will be saying: where’s the bride? and I’ll find you under a table surrounded by a pile of half-eaten marzipan apples,’ he exaggerated. Well, kind of.
Being a big fan of fruit cake, he was hardly impartial though. But I conceded that we would have traditional wedding cake, which my Gran – of Dumpling Charms fame – kindly made for us. Marriage is, after all, about compromise.
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