Engagement and Inspiration

So yes, I found my One. At the sweet age of 15, I knew I’d found him. But as previously mentioned, any prospect of getting engaged was off the cards until J managed to pull his finger out and get down on one knee one foggy January day. I waited an agonising 9 years to hear those words, and boy was I ready for them! I know some of you are probably thinking: “You’re too young! 9 years is nothing!” but think of it through my mind – a girl who’s grown up watching wedding films like it’s the daily news, meticulously thinking over and over again how I’d plan my day. Throw in a wedding-themed hobby and it’s a recipe for disaster! (See what I did there? Recipe…? Ha…)

Throwback to our first year together - 2006! When emo was cool and MySpace ruled the social media universe... 

Anyway – our engagement! So what should have been one of the most exciting, memorable and romantic occasions of our lives turned out to be a daily struggle and nightmare. I didn’t make it easy for J already, having given him the high expectations Hollywood has to offer. But I did try to make it easy, I swear! We had got to the turning point in our relationship where the next big thing was upon us – do we buy a house, or do we get married? We are both switched on individuals, and having got into silly student debt a few years ago – both very money savvy. And we couldn’t do both at the same time, unfortunately. So I suggested (after visiting a handful of wedding fairs with my other engaged friends…) that we start to look at both wedding venues and mortgages.

Weddings won.

I am quite traditional with some things in life, albeit not all. I would’ve happily jumped on a plane and said “I do” in front of Elvis in Las Vegas if it meant I could just be married. And sure, I would’ve lost that little-girl dream of having the big white wedding. But what I think my friends and family seemed to overlook – no matter how much I agonised over wedding plans and dresses and flowers andbridesmaidsandthesuitsandOHGODTHESUITS – was that I wanted to be married. I wanted J to be my husband; I wanted to affirm our love and commitment to each other with just a few simple words, in front of our closest loved ones. Yes, a big white wedding would’ve been lovely. But hey, it’s just a party. Marriage is where it’s at. And my god, how I want to start a family. Never mind journalism, or cakes – I found my calling very young, and I absolutely adore children. Not to the point that I want a career out of it, I just want my own. So very badly. Growing up and seeing my young cousins brought into the world, I was fascinated. I loved to play with them, feed them, cuddle them and coo at them. I significantly remember my auntie telling me when I was just a young teenager: “You’re going to be the first one to have kids.” Yeah I am! (I think… I was the first one married, so we’ll see!).

Sorry I’m getting off track here. The main point is, I wanted to be married, I want to have kids – I’m just traditional in the sense that I would just like to be married when we start a family. I know it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if we weren’t married, but it just helped complete that perfect ideology I’d had of: growing up, going to university, getting married, buying a house, and having a baby. If we’d bought a house, we would’ve saved for nearly a decade before we could be married and then start trying for a family. That wasn’t an option for us. We decided to get married first, live with my parents (who generously let us live with them rent-free while we saved!) and then buy a house. We are very strong-willed people, and do not like handouts. By the time the wedding actually rolled around, I had to be convinced (kicking and screaming) that we had to let people lend us money to finish paying off the last little bits. As much as we want to make it on our own in life, I’m proud to say that about 90% of the wedding bill was footed by ourselves.

One of the wedding venues we visited had the same name as the Primary School I attended. Call it intuition, or coincidence, or fate – but I just knew I had to be married there one day, just for that reason. It was a beautiful, old hall located just minutes from my childhood home. J and I visited only one other venue, which was bright, modern and blank. Too blank for us to be able to decorate on a budget and still make it look half decent. Boringdon Hall didn’t need much decoration; it was beautiful on its own. Except… I only liked one room, which was where we had our ceremony. It was a modern chapel-type room – with exposed beams to give it a rustic, barn-like feel. The rest of the venue was very old – suits of armour/tapestry/lead windows type of thing. Not us at all. We enquired, and – controversially – booked a grand wedding venue just for our 20 minute ceremony, only to move onto another location for the food and dancing. One of our favourite restaurants hosted wedding receptions, and after a quick enquiry over dessert one evening – we settled on having our ‘do there… And the prices were ridiculously budget-friendly. Win!

So now we had to tell our family and friends that we had booked a wedding venue, notified the registrar, and started picking our menu choices… All without the tiny fact that J hadn’t actually proposed.

Mrs B the Baker

My name is Mrs B, and I just got married. I love baking, I love weddings, and I love crafty DIY-ness. Despite all of this – I absolutely hated planning my wedding.

I’ve always loved films. It’s my thing – I know the storylines and background of every film I’ve ever watched inside out. I remember being about 4 years old and watching Father of the Bride for the first time.  When it finished, I knelt in front of the TV and watched intently as the credits rolled – who played that actor? What was the song she walked down the aisle to? Then I pressed rewind, and I watched it again. And again. And again. I still have that video to this day, and the sequel. And then came the dawn of DVD, and I have both copies of those, too. It’s my most favourite film ever, and it made me officially hooked on weddings.

Note: I do not own this photo. Father of the Bride (1991) Touchstone Pictures.

After writing off my childhood career choices (“I want to be a teacher... No! I want to open a café; I’ll call it ‘Cakes by Kirsten!’”) I began working part-time in retail, and went on to study Media Production at University to follow my passion for films and writing. But I had fallen in love – hard – by the time application deadlines came, and with my love of my home city and my love for J, I stayed in Plymouth. As the years at Uni went by, our relationship grew stronger as we grew up together – but I soon came to realise that if I was going to make it big in Media, I had to leave my beloved city. I was fine staying put, as my dream job was to be a journalist for the local paper. I could write in the city I loved, with the boy I loved. Then I thought I landed the big (small) time – I got a work experience placement at said newspaper! And it was god-awful. I was devastated, and knew that my journalistic dreams were shattered.

But no, I thought to myself – pick yourself up and finish this degree, you’ll figure it out. (In one of my later jobs, I met M, who did follow her dreams and went to the University of Bristol – 2 hours away – to study REAL journalism. Her work experience was a placement at a fashion magazine in NEW YORK. Well that put a pin in my little home-town-dreams bubble!) I graduated in 2011 with a 2:1 degree – I was more than happy with that! And along the way I developed a new hobby – remember that childhood dream I had of opening a cake café? It nearly became a reality.

In the summer of 2010, J’s distant cousins were coming to visit – one of them was 16 and newly engaged. (My mind was in overdrive: “16?! I’m 20, we’ve been together for 4 years and I don’t have a ring yet!!” Anyway, this was one of the many times my brain was bubbling over in engagement-wedding frustration.) J and I used to nip to the shops on the weekend and pick up silly kiddie cupcake kits and bake for our families. It grew into a bit of an obsession on my part, as I always had the baking bug from a young age. My dad was the one that taught me how to fold flour into mixes, he’s amazing at cooking. I got better and better, and then J’s auntie asked me to bake an engagement cake for his cousin. Sure, why not? YouTube was rife with cake decorating videos, and I slowly began to teach my self the art of creating beautiful and bespoke cakes. Now, this was my first ever cake (I had dabbled in cake decoration before with my mum – but everything was shop-bought and ready-made.) and I had the in-laws to impress. It didn’t turn out half bad!

But I was hooked. One cake turned into many, many orders. I still have a list of every cake I’ve ever made since that first one 5 years ago, and bear in mind I finished a university degree with great grades and maintained a steady 30-hour working week in retail, the list had well topped into the hundreds…

You know how it goes though. Life happens – no! Life gets in the way. I’ve constantly berated myself for not having a back-bone, and the more people asked me for cakes, the more I couldn’t say no. Cake decorating was hugely popular in our city, and if I didn’t say yes to one person, they could easily turn to someone more popular, more skilled, more talented… And I hated that. So I said yes over and over again. It drove me to the brink of a nervous breakdown, I swear. One year – on the week of Christmas – I had three Christmas cakes, two birthday cakes and a wedding cake to bake. Plus I had done absolutely bugger-all Christmas shopping what with all the baking, so I spent Christmas Eve racing around all the shops picking up what scraps were left on the shelves. I was so unbelievably ill that Christmas, and it’s stuck in my mind since then as the turning point for me and cakes. I was on the edge of becoming a fully-fledged self-employed cake connoisseur, and for one reason (and all the others); it came crashing down to Earth with a massive thud. I hung up the apron for good.*

Mrs B x

*No I didn’t, I’m lying. I still couldn’t say no. I’ve “quit” four or five times since that original resignation. Planning our wedding has been the final nail in the coffin on the current cake hiatus I’m on right now, but we’ll get to that later.