On Saturday Soo calculates that it's just thirteen weeks until the wedding. For some reason (I think it's suddenly measuring it in weeks instead of months) this fills us with terror and we run squealing round and round the kitchen for a few minutes, until Cassie slaps us and makes us take deep breaths. We sit there rocking and trembling.
In fact, when we calm down enough to think about it properly, it's not that bad. True, the marquee hasn't been hired, the dress is still to be designed and made, the rings have yet to be chosen, the invitations haven't been sent. Oh, and my Decree Absolute hasn't come through yet, which could be a bit of a show-stopper.
However, the invitations are about half done - another week should do it. All the other stuff (apart from the rings, which I keep forgetting about) is "ongoing" and on track, and Raff, who's making the dress, will be here on Sunday.
On Sunday Raff and Peter arrive for lunch, after which Peter and I are sent into the living room to chat while Raff and the girls pore over designs and fabrics. We cover a wide range of subjects from touring in Ireland to opera, with a soundtrack of excited squeaking coming from the kitchen.
Sounds like Raff's done a good job so far.
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