THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR

10 days ago today, I was in a state of dizzying excitement. I had eaten nothing but eggs and spinach for 5 days, was looking forward to Christmas and had convinced my mother that I might bag myself a Prince. My best friend from school was getting married, and I was damned if I was going to look any less than sensational at the wedding of the year. 

When I was at school, one of my friends threw her 17th birthday party in the Savoy. My mother had bought me a satin number in Karen Millen that was a little on the tight side and I decided to go on my first crash diet. We named the dress the ‘silken worm’ and every night my friends would gather in my dormitory to clutch at fabric and heave at zips. I was in a similar predicament before the wedding, except this time my outfit wasn’t cheap and I’d finally grown some tits.

Everyone who is anyone was at this wedding so I thought it best to wear sunglasses into the church. As anticipated, I was papped. However my thrill was slightly dampened when I realised that they had thought I was Zara Phillips, whom I’m quite sure has recently given birth. 

Disappointed to see that Philip Treacy’s predator was not going to make an appearance, my friends embarked on a game of 'hat or snack’ in reaction to a fascinator in the row in front of us that looked like Mikado biscuits. I attempted to choke back tears every time I saw the dress or any members of her family. I had no idea I was so much of a sissy. 

After the service we were whisked away to a marquee which had been decked out like the interior of an alpine lodge. The bar served Espresso Martinis and it snowed inside. I was in heaven. At one point the photographer caught me on the way back from the loo. I did a catwalk down a line of silver birches. I tripped. Still single in case anyone was wondering.

After a dinner where I could not eat without being bruised by my corset, I transformed into my persona for the night 'the Dad molestor.’ I spent the rest of the evening flirting heavily with everyone over 40 and screeching at my friend George because he had hippos on his tie.

Mum can hold onto that dream of a televised wedding, or any wedding for that matter. The bar has been set. And it has been set bloody high.