My youngest sister got married the other day. To say that we haven’t had the best relationship is an understatement, but the impending event has thankfully almost forced us to build some bridges over the last few months. I was anxious – I had only met her husband twice briefly since their relationship began and was feeling completely out of my comfort zone, but after months of stressing about imaginary scenarios and potential altercations I decided to simply buck up and get on with it.

I play in a string quartet and as a result have participated in hundreds of weddings over the years, but this one was organised better than any I have ever seen, to the point where the military could have learned a thing or two. By the time mum and I arrived at my sister’s house everything was almost finished – the hairdresser had done all the girls hair and was waiting for us, the bridesmaids were ready, the flowers and photographer had arrived and all my sister had to do was put on her dress, which was stunning. I lent her our grandmother’s eternity ring – she passed away a few years before my sister was born and this is the only thing that we have left of them. I had bought a beautiful new dress that flattered my figure and hid my various lumps and bumps. However, what I hadn’t taken into account were the tights that I had bought to wear underneath. Despite the fact that I had picked a size that I assumed would be more than comfortable, upon taking them out of the packet I realised they would be more suitable for an eight year old child, and the subsequent battle to squeeze myself into them has now made me consider a potential career change and become a contortionist. After much wrangling, sweating and swearing I emerged victorious, only to discover that I couldn’t breathe. I decided to keep them on as the dress looked beautiful – and who needs oxygen when a dress looks that good???

I sat through the service with my other sister’s new boyfriend, who I had met for the first time that day. I was impressed – he’s a lovely bloke who obviously dotes on my sister, he has a great job and was flying out the following morning to Madagascar, where he is spending six weeks doing marine biology (as you do), and I was really pleased with the effort that he made with the family, who can be extremely overwhelming for newcomers.

The service was lovely. I took the opportunity to take some photographs as my mum started to walk my sister down the aisle (who looked absolutely stunning) but then I turned my attention to the groom. The expression on his face was just wonderful – while I can’t claim to know him at all, by all accounts he’s a nice man, and that one look showed me everything I needed to know – he loves her, and she was so happy it almost appeared that she had to stop herself from grabbing him and jumping up and down there and then. The photographs afterwards were done quickly (again, with almost military precision) and the bridal party and groomsmen jumped into a minibus to go to the reception.

This was the part I had been dreading for the last eighteen months.

It was being held at a small venue where my sisters and I grew up. We spent our childhood walking the dog and playing in the fields surrounding it, referring to it as ‘The White House’ because of the colour of the building, and I haven’t been there since 2002. Circumstances meant that my mother moved away from the family home when I was at University, and so I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye – it’s been something that has plagued me ever since. Upon arrival it was the strangest feeling – everything was so familiar and instantly brought back a million memories. I broke down, just as the bride and groom were arriving in their beautiful Rolls Royce. Being the classy person that I am, I went and hid in a large patch of shrubbery and smoked a few cigarettes in my dress and heels until I had calmed down so they wouldn’t see me.

I got over myself and went inside. The reception was full of people that I hadn’t seen in years, namely my sister’s school friends and their families. It was surreal – the once rather loud children that I knew were now beautiful adults, with careers and some had families of their own.

It was one of the best receptions I have ever attended. The decor, the food, the atmosphere and the speeches were brilliant, and my sister had even organised a photo booth and a ferris wheel of sweets (candy for you non-Brits) for the guests. My sister and her new husband moved around the room and welcomed everyone, and I took the opportunity to get to know my new family-in-law a little. I was particularly enamoured with the groom’s nieces, who at the ages of 12 and 9 were two of the most intelligent and well-mannered little girls I’d ever met.

By 10.30pm I had eaten and drank my own body weight to the point where my dress had appeared to have shrunk, my feet hurt and I was tired, so my mother and I left. I had a huge sense of relief – relief that it had gone so well for them, that I had a lovely time, and relief that I could get out of my stupid tights, change into my jammies and actually breathe again.

It was certainly a day to remember, and it’s taught me a few things:

1. I need to stop worrying about potential scenarios and start living in the present a little more.

2. I need to move on and start getting to know the sister that I have now rather than the one I knew.

3. I need to stop underestimating exactly how large my bottom is when I am purchasing tights in the future.

I hope they had a good day and that they’re happy, and if the way that they looked at each other throughout the day is symbolic of the rest of their lives, I know they’re going to have a wonderful time…

What about you guys? Have you any funny wedding stories that you want to share?

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