What Kati Did next; No cake and a karaoke machine

Well, we’re on the final stretch of the wedding journey.

We’re very nearly docking in the wedding quay. We’re nearing the pay machine at the end of the wedding toll.

I’ll stop now, but you know what I mean.

The boxes on my lists have been ticked, I have checked and double-checked all the food, the booze, the church hall, the music, the register office.

All is in fine working order, even though I say so myself, there is nothing more to think about.

Anyway, worry is not a word we use in our house very often.

Stress is certainly one we tend to circum-navigate. Not that there aren’t things to stress and worry about — we just don’t bother. It takes up too much time.

We would rather spend the time reading a good book, or trying to download videos from our camera. It is taking us months and becoming a pain.

No, I feel quite proud really. I may be a little premature but I am going to congratulate myself on the ability to organise a cracking party with absolutely no hiccups. I’ve even told people I might start my own business, such is my confidence in my organisational qualities.

“I have found my niche,” I cry. So nope, I don’t think there is anything more to do . . . apart from panic.

I find myself lying awake at night, fear coarsing through my normally laid-back veins.

The fairy lights will never reach around the hall, there aren’t enough candles, the flowers are the wrong colour, my dress won’t fit, my shoes will hurt. In fact, I know they will, my toes are still numb from the hen do.

Suddenly you realise why people pay hotels enormous sums of money to organise their day for them.

All the couple has to do is turn up somewhere picturesque and a professional will walk you through the whole day, even to the point of shouting at people to eat, cut the cake, say a speech.

We’re not doing any of that, we’ve got no cake, the speeches are really short, the band has become a karaoke machine and we are all turning up on the tram, so really there is hardly anything to organise.

I feel like a mallard, cool as a cucumber on top, paddling like mad underneath, just to stay afloat.

Docking into the quay? Sectioning myself, more like.