3 months to go until the wedding and my dream wedding dress is on its way from Paris. I’m excited. I knew from the first second I saw it that I would inevitably find some way to buy it, and that feeling was further cemented when I tried it on last month. As soon as I saw myself in the mirror I thought: I look like myself. Not me dressed up like a bride, like an actor shrugging on the costume for a one-off role, but myself as a bride, as the person I am and will become and will remain. Just me, looking like myself. I nearly cried. It’s perfect I said, in poorly accented French, and the assistant Eugenie smiled.

A couple of nights ago I had a dream that I flew to Paris to fetch the dress back home. Not in an aeroplane, but under my own auspices, without wings but with a great release of energy as though I was jumping into the air before soaring on warm currents across the wide blue sea.

I’ve also started making decorations for the wedding, with lots of help from my mother. We’re doing a rustic theme, in keeping with the location and style of our reception venue, the details of which I’m keeping private for the time being. Our guests know where we’re going, but as much as I like blogging I do still enjoy not sharing every single detail of my life with the entire world.

I’m still not working, but recently had some good news about a large upcoming contract that will see us relocate to Wolverhampton temporarily. I don’t mind too much – I’ve spent a long time moving up and down the country, and I much prefer to be as close to (if not firmly inside) the south west as possible. I’m not a northern girl and have come to terms with the fact that I never will be. It’s nothing personal; I just don’t like the landscape or the weather (read: temperature) and, to some extent, the accents. Again, it’s nothing personal – I’m marrying a Whitby lad, for goodness sake – it’s just that I just prefer long vowel sounds over short ones. At any rate, when this contract comes through we’ll be able to buy a new house, so I’m hoping that in a few years we’ll be able to sell the new place and buy somewhere else further south. I really miss living in Bristol and R’s happy to move there, so that’s most likely where we’ll end up. In the meantime, I’m looking forward to Wolverhampton. R was originally not going to come with me, but as the contract looks like it might be for a longer time than I had originally anticipated, it will probably make sense for us to hold off on buying a new place here and find a nice rental house over there for the time being.

Errol’s doing ok – his antibody levels still haven’t gone down and we’re having to be careful with his coronavirus, but apart from that he seems happy. He’s started trying to bite my legs on a more regular basis. Not hard, but it’s meant that when he’s around and in one of his mental moods I find myself having to walk backwards quite a lot. We’re going on holiday soon and we’re both worrying about leaving him. He won’t be completely alone as someone’s coming to look after him and the house for us, but he’s never been without both of us for longer than a night so I expect to come home to find him cowering beneath our bed.

So that’s where we are. 3 months to go, still have to attend to a few wedding-related items but chugging along quite nicely. Now we’re into the home stretch I’m sure time will continue to fly.