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Below is a list of our fabulous vendors who are most deserved of the compliments we heard throughout our wedding day. For us, our wedding day was about our personalities and the intimate celebration with our families and friends. and these people helped us achieve just that. Short but sweet, small and intimate, fun but meaningful was what our day was about. Stress free (for the most part) due to the professionals we worked with to make our day the best it could be. And for that we are grateful.
Registrar: Theresa O’Reilly, County Galway Registrar
Photographer: Peter Neill Photography
Car Hire: Costello’s Bus Hire
Reception Venue, Food and Cake: Ard Bia/Nimmos
Bride/Groom Accommodation: House Hotel, Galway
Cake Toppers: NatBears on Etsy
Music: Executive Steve
Rings: Victoria Buckley via Pocket Full of Poesy on Etsy
Bride’s Dress: Candy Anthony
Bride’s Hairpiece: Featherbrain on Etsy
Bride’s Shoes (Heels): Irregular Choice via Schuh
Bride’s Shoes (Flats): De Bonis Orquera on Etsy
Bride’s Jewellery: Swarovski
Bride’s Underwear (fabulous): Masquerade by Panache via Boudiche
Groom’s Suit: Ted Baker via Arnotts
Groom’s Shirt: Debenhams
Groom’s Shoes: Converse
Bride’s hair, make up and flowers all her own work. Also, diy pinwheels and favours.
….cont.
Monday 19 April 2010: I’m woken by Emmet reacting to a dream. It’s an abrupt awakening, but after a satisfying nights sleep I’m not fussed. Outside is the hum of people biking and boating their way to work. The clothes I washed in the hotel sink the night before have dried on the radiator. Emmet and I pack the bag before deciding to stay another night in our hotel. We’ve learnt from experience that we’re unlikely to be able to book any mode of transport out of the city for the same day, so plan on another night of comfort before we’re back sleeping in our seats. We trek back to the library but not before stopping off to have a pancake and omelette for breakfast. At the library I spend time Googling transport options while Emmet emails all and sundry to let them know we’re stuck but okay. I manage to coordinate three buses, one from Amsterdam to Brussels through the Dutch Eurolines website, one from Brussels to London through the Belgian Eurolines website, and the final leg from London to ol’ Dublin town through the UK version of the Eurolines website. With no direct route available, this was our only option. Emmet handed over his credit card as his is in Euros, mine is in Aussie dollars, and I made the bookings. Emmet runs back and forth between me, the printer, and the print voucher machine until we have all of our tickets in our hot little hands. It takes a few hours to coordinate, but when we’re done we can spend the afternoon relaxing in Amsterdam.
We walk down some shopping streets as Emmet has wrecked his jeans around the ankles. He wears jeans almost every day so it’s no wonder they die quite horrific deaths. He tries on a pair and we take them. He also has a look for some shoes but the prices are quite high and we can’t seem to find anything decent on sale. Never mind. We stop in at a Waterstones and pick up some reading material for the onward journey. I get a colourful magazine as I can’t read on buses without getting a headache. Emmet gets something far more intellectual. We both get a left over Easter egg on sale at the counter. We wander through the streets and along the canals until we’re back at the hotel. We prepare ourselves an in-room picnic and eat sandwiches, cheese and salad. Emmet drinks a beer he has been lusting after for some time. It tastes like chocolate. We check the news and hear that airports may begin opening from tomorrow. I hear the sound of what might be a plane and Emmet opens the window. The plane! At least another three follow it before we fall asleep.
Tuesday 20 April 2010: Back in our travel outfits – trackies, t-shirts, cardigans and coats – we load up the backpack with supplies and head on over to Amsterdam Amstel for our 12.30pm bus to Brussels. The woman at the desk tells us there’s an earlier bus and offers us a seat, which we take. She also informs us that she had a number of spaces on a bus to London this morning. Bugger! When we arrived in Amsterdam there was quite a crowd, and anticipating the same today we had opted for booking online rather than just arriving at the ticket office to see what services were going in our direction. Never mind. We get on the bus and leave Amsterdam behind us. There’s a fellow on the bus who seems to be stoned. He’s making nervous movements that are making me a little nervous too. He keeps taking to the driver and seems to have trouble operating the toilet door. Soon he relaxes into his seat and we’re half way to where we need to be. The driver has his own issues going on as he follows the GPS a little too faithfully and takes us to a pedestrian street with an overpass his bus is too big to pass under. He puts the bus into reverse and sends a passenger out to make sure the road is clear. It’s anything but. We have to negotiate trams, bikes and less than impressed Mercedes drivers, none of whom care to be inconvenienced for the few minutes it would take our driver to turn around. Eventually he’s out of the tight squeeze and we’re off again.
We arrive in Brussels and check with the Eurolines desk to see if there is an earlier bus to London. Ours is scheduled to leave at 10.45pm. It’s around 4pm when we arrive in Brussels. It appears not. We walk into town and grab a bite to eat in a shopping mall. Brussels is not my favourite place, although Emmet has a soft spot for it. We buy the newspaper and read up on all we have been missing without access to English news. Emmet buys some comfy, and less smelly, shoes and I consider purchasing a radio for the next leg but opt not to.
Emmet calls home from the train station before we head back to the Eurolines waiting room. It begins to fill with people and we’re glad we have a ticket. There’s a rush to join the queue when it hits 9.30pm. A young lass has an epileptic episode and is taken away in an ambulance. Fortunately she makes it back in time to take her bus home. We are checked on bus number 12, which is one of the latter buses to leave even though it was the first to be allocated. We get seats together and the journey continues, but not before some hiccups with passengers leaving their luggage on the footpath expecting someone to place it in the hold rather than doing it themselves! Six or seven buses left Brussels bound for London that evening. All full.
Wednesday 21 April 2010: It’s dark and I’m tired. There’s not much to be seen on the way to the ferry in Calais other than other buses and trucks passing us by in the same direction. Emmet is watching, excited and curious as to whether we’ll be taking a ferry or going via the Channel Tunnel. We’re headed for the ferry. We get off the bus briefly for a passport check by both French and UK authorities. The French guards are a little intimidating. I’m shaking like a leaf from the cold hoping it doesn’t make me look too suspicious in from of the man holding my passport. The British lady on the other side was much more upbeat for someone working at 1 in the morning. We board the ferry and have to stay awake for the duration of sail. Tea is welcomed, as are some Lindt chocolates Emmet had picked up in Brussels. The sea is dark. There’s nothing to see. We get back on the bus and drive along the Dover coast until we pick up the road into London.
The stop-start of London’s ample red lights wakes us both. A wave of joy passes over me, quickly followed by the dread of having to wait 12 hours for our connecting bus to Dublin. I’m too tired for anymore of this. The five hours to Brussels, the five hours waiting time and the seven hours to London have taken it out of me and I get the shakes from exhaustion. When we arrive at London the bus station is full of lost souls. It’s difficult to tell the difference between stranded travellers and the homeless. The toilets are locked, which does not please me as I’ve been holding it for quite some time. We arrive ten minutes ahead of the scheduled check-in time for the next bus to Dublin, leaving at 6am. We wait. Emmet jumps in the line and hands over his ticket to the lady, who subsequently hands him our boarding cards. I’m pleased and have a new-found burst of adrenalin keeping me upright. Emmet worries that the Eurolines lady hasn’t read his ticket properly and not seen that it’s actually for the 6pm bus. He rejoins the queue to make sure we’re not taking the place of someone else on the bus. We’re not, so we take our seats and wait to depart. The driver allows eight additional passengers to board. They’ve been in the bus station a while now waiting as stand-by passengers. I’m glad to see them join the bus. Within twenty minutes of boarding we’re bound for Dublin and I am happy that our homeward journey is now some 12 hours from coming to an end.
I’m not envious of the couple in front of us having a blue. They’re going to be spending the next 12 hours together and she’s totally ignoring his pleas. A random Irish lass boards the bus and begs the girl in front for a sip of her water. She’s perished, apparently. She remains obnoxious for the remainder of the journey. Thankfully Emmet and I are far enough away from her to listen in without having to enter into any direct contact. Somewhere along the way she mentions how lucky we are to have been trapped in such ‘civilised’ countries. I’m not sure what she means by that but feel I should be either ashamed or embarrassed on behalf of someone. This journey’s discomfort is also physical. It’s the tightest of all the buses so far. It’s also the coldest. A woman in front of us complains to the driver who turns up the air conditioning after a short pit stop. We’re in Watford. I think. It’s soon too hot on the bus as the sun beats down through clear skies and the massive bus windows. The whole journey there has been nothing but sunshine and I wonder how far up this ash cloud is supposed to be if there’s absolutely no sign of it from the ground. My suspicions are confirmed as my Irish companions begin to melt…the Irish don’t cope well with heat. The same woman who asked for the temperature to be raised asks for it to be turned back down again. The air conditioning is stuck. The driver can’t pull over as the bus too is stuck, in traffic. There’s only just enough time to get to the ferry before it leaves so we make do with random bursts of cool air and slowly warming bottles of water.
The English countryside is glorious in the sunshine. The contrasting green fields and blue sky are stunning. Wales too. Especially around the coastline. Spring is truly in the air, with the leaves of the trees breaking through and flowers blooming. I entertain my inner child and announce ‘sheeps’ and ‘cows’ as we travel along. There are youngsters and mothers hanging out in every species. Soon enough we’re an hour from the ferry’s scheduled departure time. 40kms to go. Wait, no, it’s 40 miles! Damn it, there’s no town nor port in sight! It’s a photo finish but we make it in time to be waved on board, minutes before the ferry pulls away. We’re so close!
The inscription on my wedding ring reads ‘…and yes I said yes I will Yes’, quoting Molly Bloom’s soliloquy from James Joyce’s Ulysses. Emmet’s has it too. And that day, Wednesday 21 April 2010, the Ulysses brought us home to Dublin.
Before we left Australia I took my Mum into a couple of wedding dress shops to have a looksee. On the whole I wasn’t too impressed, and it took some suggestion for me to try things on. Looking at dresses on the rack really doesn’t give you much of an idea of how it might look when you have it on…there are bows hanging here and beads over there that might look altogether too much when the dress is hanging up, but when you put it on it might be just the right amount of embellishment. Unfortunately for me, white has never really been my colour and shades thereof against my pasty white skin tend to make me look washed out. Some are too large, many too small, and most marked with some size not even close to relating to the reality of the bodies on the inside. It’s no bloody wonder that brides are so often on crash diets before their weddings, as the woman in one of the shops kept bringing me size 18 and 20s when I’m much more accustomed to a 14! One 18 was tight, the next was massive…!
So, while I enjoyed the experience with my Mum, and I did despite the above whinging, I have to say, and I think she’d agree, I’ve never really been able to see myself in a wedding dress, full stop.
With this in mind, I wandered passed a number of wedding dress boutiques in Dublin, peering in their windows and dreading the thought of going in without the company of my Mum to whom I could moan when the saleswoman brings in a sample in no way matching the discription of what I’ve suggested while proceeding to tell me it will look much better when it’s on and in my correct size and tucked here and pinned there if only I place an order this afternoon…!
Venturing online was my solution, as if I was going to have to get a dress in Ireland I might as well plan ahead so as to avoid drowing in the masses of tule and taffeta clouding out the boutique windows. It was online that I first came across Candy Anthony, and fell in love immediately! Specifically, this dress inspired my actions hereafter. Based in London, she’s just a hop accross the water, I thought to myself, as I emailed off and asked for an appointment and estimation of how long a dress might take to make. At the same time I did some sums and worked out what I might have been willing to spend on a dress back home, converted it to Euros, then Stirling and had a small coronary, before deciding that yes, this might be budget-able.
So below is my dress…sort of. It’s a similar shape, with the strapless bodice and a tule pettyskirt underneath, but mine is dark blue with silvery/ivory flowers instead of the red ones you see here.
Finally! And what a way to send off 2009 and ring in 2010! Hooray for snow! Too many exclamation marks, I know, but I am Australian after all!
In an overwhelming bout of creativity I spent part of my Sunday afternoon photographing the very lovely (and importantly, photogenic) Tatiana. Here are the results!
