The Wedding ends ...

That was then ... and this is now.

Our wedding is well and truly behind us.Thank god for that. It was a bloody nightmare. From start to finish. I've skipped a few bits and bobs to spare the blushes of people who did their best to contribute to the nightmare, rather than helping us out. Suffice to say that it certainly wasn't the wedding we'd planned - or hoped for - when some bright spark (me) had the idea of a wonderful winter wedding in Europe.

In fact, we both have half a mind to do it all over again. Picky's way. In Sydney and in summer.

We're seriously thinking about having the summer wedding that Picky always wanted. Technically it won't be a wedding. I don't think you can get married if you're already married. Uness you're a Mormon or from some other nut-bag religion / cult. Even if your first one was a complete shocker. Maybe you can. Maybe if we buzz the Department of Weddings - or whatever they call themselves these days - and point them to this blog and they read about the hell that was our first attempt at getting married - they'll declare it 'null and void' and let us do it again. Properly.

Still, beyond the nightmare, the way that we look at it now is this; Picky's mum and dad were there, so were her best mates from Germany - Manu, Gesine, Sophie, Irina ... and Emi! Yep, even Emi made it. Eventually. We thought she'd landed in Paris, but her flight eventually made it to London. She missed the ceremony, but made it for the champagne ... and if you make a wedding in time for the bubbly you've not really missed much to be honest.

Plus, of course, Dale was there and, despite the blood, drama and race across London in an ambulance ... she was still pregnant. Even Chris, my oldest mate in the whole wide world, made it through the snow to get to the Reception at the very last minute. He's a true mate that fella.

And, of course, let's not forget that I married my beautiful Picky. Stuff the snow. I did actually get married to the love of my life. To my mother-of-Pearl.

So, surrounded by the people we both love and by people who we care for - and who care for us. At the end of the day, you can't argue with that. You can argue with the snow and most of the other crap, but if you're marrying the girl you love and the people you love are there to see it and share it, you can't ask for much more. Can you? Nah. Course you can't. I reckon I was the luckiest bloke on earth on my wedding day.

Afterwards Picky held me to the promise I'd made in the taxi as we fought our way across London in the snow. Course she did. She's German. You can't bullshit a German. They're like elephants. They remember everything.

I'd thrown away a glib line about a honeymoon 'somewhere hot' & she'd taken note and filed it away in her head under 'Promises that WILL be delivered'.

We're off to Tahiti at the end of July. A dream honeymoon to make up for her non-dream wedding.

We're going to the place that one of the Kardashians went for her honeymoon. Apparently. I'd rather have multiple winter weddings in London than watch an episode of the bloody Kardashians!

Picky's mum and dad are flying out to Sydney to look after Pearl whilst we're away on our belated dream honeymoon.

We have a week ...

A whole week ...

An entire 7 days ...

On a tropical island on our own ...

Without Pearl ...

We're gonna be kid-less in paradise.

What the bloody hell are we going to do? 

What will we talk about?

I can promise you one thing ... we won't be talking about the wedding. 

Pip pip ;-))