The First Seven Days

This time last Saturday I’d just been married, sipping champagne and chatting with family and friends. What a difference a week makes! I am home alone in London, just back from a lovely lunch in Earlsfield to celebrate Taron’s birthday. Some of the wedding guests attended—Claire, Kelly, and of course Taron. Taron’s mother is also in town and it was nice to see her again—she was in London for Taron’s wedding back in March.

Mirepoix is a stroke away; Tim on the other hand is miles away in Yarmouth, racing his Contessa this weekend. Of course I miss him; I always did even before being married. Having said that, I’m not the least upset that the first weekend of married life we are apart. In fact we will have dinner together on Sunday and will have lots to talk about when we’re together again. I remember reading a response by a famous rock musician about how he kept his twenty-year marriage together—his response was “touring.” Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder. The time away gave me a chance to organise photos from the wedding and, of course, write this post.

So what did the first week of wedded bliss hold? Well, you probably would prefer hearing about the wedding first . . .

When all is said and done, it was perfect. The ceremony was short, simple, and performed beautifully by our registrar, Adam. None of us flubbed a line. The canapés and champagne arrived, chilled and ready for the first glass after we kissed for the first time as husband and wife. The quartet played wonderfully—not exactly to the set I’d asked, but it didn’t matter; it was elegant, warm, and as special as I’d hoped.

Everyone talked with each other—I looked around the room occasionally and was delighted to see conversations among guests who’d only just met—I’d expected to see Sue and Austin chatting with Julia, but was pleasantly surprised to see Amanda and Birgit chatting uni with John J and Sybil and was delighted to see Tim’s mum talking with friends Jyoti and Lucy. I knew Robyn would talk with my dear Leah, one of my first friends here in London, and Jyoti, too—both of them were so happy to meet this sibling whom they’ve heard so much about over the last three years. At times I just closed my eyes and smiled at the thought of having them all together. Those moments were truly special, and I can still see some of them in my mind’s eye; I am happy to have them captured in photographs, too.

Friends told me that they thought it was a delightful affair—just the right length, a perfectly-sized venue, lovely wines and small bites—a really nice day. I couldn’t agree more.

There didn’t seem to be any pre-wedding jitters for either Tim or me—third time lucky, we not only knew the lines but we knew each other, and felt in our hearts that this was a commitment we’d cherish. Funny, Tim asked me the day after if it felt any different, and while I’ve lived with him for two years, there was something just slightly special about sitting across from him on the same couch we’ve shared before. I like seeing a band of gold on his finger, and mine. I am thrilled beyond words that I am his “wifey.” I like being called that and knowing that I can prove it! So, yes, it does feel different in a subtly warm way.

I like that we danced. I like that Tim's wife and brother danced, too, when the quartet played a tango (which I’d planted on the list for just that reason). This wasn’t your traditional wedding with lots of speeches and the first dance, etc, etc, though it had some of the usual touches—Tim’s brother Peter gave a delightful, funny speech, and Tim said a few words to thank our guests for joining us.

There was no official photographer but it didn’t matter—within days I had over 200 photographs in hand from friends and family, and in fact have posted them to Facebook and to Snapfish if you’d like to take a look! We didn’t spend money to decorate the Town Hall Council Chambers, though Tim presented me with a beautiful posy of white roses and blue cornflowers to match my dress—

Photo credit to my dear friend Birgit Schmidt!

I was perhaps most happy that my sister Robyn was there. I always smile when her beau Jimmy recognises that she and I are about to crumple into laughter even before we’ve finished a sentence; we just have this bond. I was thrilled to see her when they arrived on Thursday, when we had a late dinner and catch up, and a little sad to see her go on Monday when we left them at the security gate in Heathrow. But oh what wonderful times we had in between—a wonderful, relaxing, delicious meal at Frederick’s in Islington, a relaxed after-wedding nosh and drink at the lovely St Pancras Hotel, and then a chill-out barbie in the garden, too, to talk about the wedding and just enjoy each other’s company again.

Speaking of the St Pancras, it was not just a post-wedding drinks place but also Tim’s and my wedding night venue. I didn’t want to just come home to our London home and anyway we’d offered it to Tim's brother's family for the night. The hotel only recently reopened and it is such a grand building that I thought I simply must stay there for the night, and Tim obliged and booked us a room. The reception area is small compared to the vastness of the building, which takes up considerable space above Kings Cross station. It is modern, airy, light, and a perfect place for a meet up. The bar was dark and cosy, and the service was lovely. The food—charcuterie, cheese and nuts—was just perfect for the post-wedding nosh.

The room in the Barlow Suite we had was lovely—quiet, modern, and while not spacious it had a lovely comfortable king-sized bed. In the morning we opted to linger over coffee and breakfast and the Pan Quotidien in the St Pancras International station, near the Eurostar; it’s a fascinating place for people-watching and it was a bright, sunny morning so the area was filled with light and travellers hustling by speaking any number of languages.  

I suppose there could be more to say about the wedding, but those are the highlights for me. I loved the day, all of it. When John J said to us at the receptioin that we look really happy, I practically gushed that I was happy. I still shake my head in disbelief at how I am where I am; I’d never have guessed my life would be here in Britain, and with a man who loves me as much as Tim does. Well, my dear friend Wilma would have—did—predict that I’d find a happy ending here; she also predicts I won’t be coming “home” though Tim occasionally talks about taking the NY or CA bar exams!

 So what of Married Week One? Well, having seen Robyn and Jimmy off to Heathrow and visited Mum on Monday before she went back to her own home, Tim and I cracked a bottle of rose champagne—our stash from when we went to Reims—and had a lovely barbeque for two in the garden and simply relaxed and chatted about the long weekend that really felt like a mini-holiday. Tuesday was back to work, and dinner as usual at 8. Wednesday was the Middle Temple Garden party where Tim could introduce me to some of his colleagues as his wife, which was nice. The rest of the week was same old, same old, but then again, something just feels slightly different. The affirmation of our love and commitment is still palpable; we’re both, I think, still glowing. We call each other Mr and Mrs Devlin and smile at the newness of it. That will no doubt fade in time, but for now, for this week and the next and probably the next, I will still smile broadly when my husband Tim calls me Mrs Devlin or “wifey.” Ah, life’s simple pleasures.

Do I look happy here? You betcha!