Well, first of all, happy gay marriage week! Or, you know, marriage week. Because surely it's just all about spending the rest of your life with the person you love.
So, this isn't really about politics at all. Not that I think equal marriage is really a political decision - more of a moral one. But it's actually all about me. Ha.
I might have more angst about blogging about my wedding than I have done about laying my political opinions bare. Partly because it's personal, and one of the reasons why I would never run for office is that, for better or worse, a politician's private life is often played out in public, as we've seen in recent weeks with the heart-breaking coverage of Chris Huhne and Vicky Pryce.
But it's also because I don't think a wedding maketh a woman. Don't get me wrong. I loved getting married. Planning it was fun (seriously - if I can organise events for companies that make far more than I ever will, I can organise a party in a barn). I had only minor fallings-out with my in-laws and parents. And the day was pretty much one of the top ones of my life, despite my mantra of wanting a marriage not a wedding. It's just.... It was just a wedding day. It was a fucking awesome one, don't get me wrong. But it was one day.
I've not been one of those girls who's always dreamed of her wedding day. In fact, I don't know a single woman who has. My female friends, married, single or otherwise, are all smart, funny, clever, independent women who, frankly, have more important stuff going on in their lives than table decorations or canapés. I mean, sure, I may have got a bit side-tracked with flowers (pretty!) and table settings (complicated), which only makes it more complicated when I try to sit down and think about what our wedding day really meant to me.
Now, I would like to state for the record that I am a feminist. An ardent, dyed in the wool, vocal feminist. But I wore a white dress and my dad walked me down the aisle on my wedding day. Problematic, non? Well, there are two answers to that. Yes, if you're being a bit of a prick. I was not, strictly speaking, in white dress territory. I was also not the property of my father to hand on to my husband. I did, however, find a pretty dress in a sample sale, and make my dad's day by asking him to be with me that afternoon. Although I have to say that his analogy of doing a live broadcast (dad works in tele) being fairly equivalent to walking down the aisle in front of 120 of my nearest and dearest, was not that soothing to the nerves as we drove to church. And dress-wise? Well, I may not have been a blushing bride, but as far as I'm aware, there isn't a uniform - either for feminists or virgins.
So. This is the ultimate in post modernism. A blog about a blog that is yet-to-exist. Our wedding photographer has asked us if we'd be happy if our pictures are used in a wedding blog. A lovely one that looks at lots of other happy couples, and gives people top tips and ideas for lovely parties. And yes, of course, I'm flattered and very happy for them to use our photos. But I wanted it to come with a few caveats. Namely, that weddings are awesome fun, but that marriages are also awesome. That whatever the wedding shop bitches say, you don't need to lose an extra 10 pounds - and especially not in the next four weeks; and that you should enjoy your day, not bankrupt yourselves, and totally invite most of the old Lib Dem press office (see - politics) because they will definitely show you a good time. In short: eat, drink, dance, and be happy. And remember that everyone likes to get drunk and dance around to Smooth Criminal.