“At last”, to quote a popular wedding first dance song, “my love has come along”. That’s how I felt on my second wedding day. After years of being with the wrong men, here I was committing my life to the right man, in front of our favourite people in my dream location: a beautiful, old house in the Cotswolds countryside. This was how love was supposed to feel and how weddings were supposed to be. Apparently I had just needed a trial run of both.
I planned my first wedding in my early twenties. It took 15 months, a fair few fights and an incredible amount of money. I became demanding, argumentative, weepy and neurotic. I also allowed both families to get too involved, something I put down to youth and finances. I wanted the wedding to be perfect and didn’t pay much attention to what would happen after the honeymoon, such was my naivete. He was a good man and the wedding was wonderful but when the marriage turned out to be neither of these things, I knew that despite getting married in front of 300 people, I had to admit it, and we divorced.



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