Four months to go until the big day.
Everyone keeps asking: So, how’s the planning? Have you got the dress yet?
Good and yes, I tell them.
The planning is great, actually, because at the moment we’re selecting the wines.
This involves buying multiple bottles of cheap plonk and trying them all at once.
We’ve already tested several reds. This week, we start on the whites.
I am enjoying this stage.
We put on our daggy thongs, grab an umbrella and walk at twilight to the shops down the road.
On the way back we stroll through the park and, quite literally, stop to smell the roses. They are glazed in perfect little rain drops.
We get back to our little apartment, line up mismatched wine glasses and splosh a drop of red in each.
The trick is to let it aerate for 10 minutes, he insists each time.
Then we try.
We swish the wine far too aggressively around the glass and take enormous great sniffs.
Then, finally, we sip it and swill it and try to impress each other with words like “angular” and “earthy” and “grippy”.
Last week, during the aeration period, a lightning storm passed.
We stood on our little balcony and watched the clouds dramatically unfurl themselves directly overhead.
The lightning tore through the tumbling grey montage – more intense and brighter than I had ever seen before.
The thunder CRACKED, so aggressively it echoed inside us.
It grew louder and louder and louder. And then softer and softer and softer.
And then it was over.
A theatrical display, just for us.
We lingered. Listening to opera that was playing far too loudly in the neighbours lounge.
On our little balcony.
After surviving the storm.
Our balcony is full of lovely things. Overgrown basil, dill and cherry tomatoes.
After the storm and after the opera, we picked some to cook with.
Crushed the basil in our fingers. Held it to our noses.
And then we retreated back inside and back to the reds, to swish and sniff and sip again.
Mmm. Tis a velvety drop, he says with furrowed brows. Isn’t it?
Quite right you are, I say.
So, how is the wedding planning going? They keep asking.
Good, I say. And it is.