Where Eagles fly

This evening Crystal Palace FC played against Cardiff City FC in the second leg of the semi-final of the Carling Cup. The match featured an own goal, a sending off, gasp-inducing misses from Cardiff, some categorically shocking decisions from the referee and a final place cruelly snatched away by penalties. I am glad it is all over, but I had been waiting with anticipation for this game since Palace’s heady victory in the first leg at Selhurst Park a couple of weeks ago, and former slaying of the mighty Manchester United at Old Trafford back in November 2011. Sadly, we are not on our way to Wembley and my knees are all-a-trembly for all the wrong reasons. It hurts a lot.

You see, CPFC will always hold a very special place in my heart for a number of reasons. You can move the girl to the East End but the Holmesdale End will never be forgotten; a bus, a train and the Victoria Line may physically separate us but metaphorically, we are kind of attached.

I wish I could remember the first time my Dad took me to Selhurst Park as a little girl to watch a game but unfortunately it is lost in a blue and red haze. I think I must have been around eight years old, maybe nine, and I knew right away it was the start of a beautiful relationship.

Going to a home game was, and always will be despite our league position or the final score, a treat. A swift cuppa (thanks Mum) at the Greenbrook house in Upper Norwood always started proceedings before a short drive to Grangewood Park and a saunter to the ground beside other expectant fans. Sometimes you could hear the chant of the stadium crowd in the distance as we ambled down Ladbrook Road and if it was an evening game, from the hill you could see the bright glare of the floodlights illuminating the sky. I always liked it when the weather was cold and brisk as there was something very comforting about being wrapped up warm in hats, gloves and a vibrant red and blue scarf. I never felt the coldness bite as I enveloped my hand tightly into my Dad’s.

A quick detour over the petrol garage courtyard on Whitehorse Road for an essential match programme and some sugary sweets, we would hurry past the ubiquitous orange Sainsbury's sign and the heaving Club Shop bursting with memorabilia. A final squish through the click, click, clicking of turnstiles and suddenly I would be spurted into the ground - a sea of red and blue encircling the verdant pitch.

Even now, there is such charged energy within that red and blue community. Every time I go there, I am convinced I see the same programme sellers from years gone by. Ever present is Pete the Eagle (and his girlfriend in mascot-land, Alice), whose importance even merits a Twitter following: @PeteEagle_CPFC

Pre-match events in recent times also involve a real Eagle taking flight around the pitch before kick-off and, rather unfortunately, the Crystals, Palace’s own ‘cheerleading squad’ who were brought in to inspire the players and even made the Metro in March 2011 when accused of affecting the team’s form.

Attendance has arguably decreased somewhat over the years, but that has not quietened the thunderous roar of the crowd, extinguished the life out of the Holmesdale Fanatics or the habitual playing of '25 Miles' by The Three Amigos when Palace score. Even the most prudent of fans forget themselves when the announcer leads the crowd into repeating the scorer's name loudly - Darrrrreeeen AMBROSE! etc.

It is never an easy ninety minutes. It can be exhilarating. Surprising. Full of ups and downs. Gut wrenching, agonisingly painful. But it is always special.

This little team from South London has a fascinating history. Crystal Palace Football Club was formed in 1905 by the builders of The Crystal Palace and originally played its home games at the cup final ground at The Crystal Palace. They moved to the purpose-built Stadium Selhurst Park in 1924, where the team have also shared the ground with Wimbledon FC and Charlton Athletic FC.

Dougie Freedman, a former player, is now providing paternal leadership to both Palace's young starlets fresh out of the Academy and the experienced older players. We once walked in a Freedman Wonderland but we're now watching him lead our red and blue army hopefully to some form of success. Eighteen months ago we were on the brink of administration, players were playing for free and fans had no idea what the outcome would be. Now Saint Dougie nearly led the team to Wembley. An amazing feat.

Going to Selhurst Park for me is akin to discovering a huge book of memories, blowing off the dust and getting lost in the nostalgia.

Sometimes when I glance over at the Holmesdale End, I imagine that is 1988 again. I can see a little version of myself and my sister Michelle at the front of the terraces with the other children, excited about the arrival of the players coming out of the tunnel and waving back at our Dad. I am expectantly waiting for David 'Kid' Jensen to come out at half time for some pitch-based competitions.

The pages turn to the 1990/91 season where Palace have finished an astonishing third in what was then the First Division. The squad was is full of a host of greats including Nigel Martyn, Richard Shaw, Gareth Southgate, Alan Pardew, Simon Rodger, John Salako, Geoff Thomas, Mark Bright, Stan Collymore, and Ian Wright, most of whom have gone on to find fame in bigger clubs, in management or as a pundit on Sky Sports (*play extravagant fireworks noise here*).

Then, it is the 1992/1993 season and my fourteenth birthday is announced on the scoreboard in an opening game six-goal thriller against Blackburn Rovers. I am a little embarrassed (I am fourteen after all) but very proud.

Sadly, Palace often were defeated, and as a passionate and rather emotional young fan I would regularly cry with disappointment. I could barely stay in my seat when an opposing player took a shot at goal, but on making another great save, my Dad would utter those reassuring words, ‘don’t worry Nic, Nige had it covered’ and all was good again in the world. In around 1995, while a student, I worked in the now defunct Club Shop on George Street in Croydon which was to be the best job ever. First team players regularly popping in, a great bunch of work colleagues, free kit each season and an endless flow of boys coming in throughout the day. What was there not to like for a sixteen-year-old girl? Thankfully I declined the offer to feature in the Club Shop catalogue, foreseeing the endless teasing I would get from my husband if that ever came out from the depths of the Greenbrook attic.

Nige of course was the great Nigel Martyn, Palace's star goalkeeper who broke our hearts when he left for Leeds in 1996. Nigel once inadvertently gave me a cauliflower ear during his pre-match warm up. He miskicked the ball causing it to swerve backwards, knock my drink out of my hand and simultaneously take out me and my best friend Danuta - smack in the mouth. 'Sorry girls', said Nige. 'Ow', said Nicola, with possible concussion and temporary loss of hearing in one ear.

So you see, it is not just a game of football, it is part of me, deep-rooted. It is about where I spent some of my childhood, the special memories it created. It is about being with loved ones and friends who know exactly what it feels like. It is taking pride in a perfectly nice area that gets a lot of criticism for no apparent reason other than sheer snobbery. It is about being loyal to your local team through both the good and bad times (take note London Mancs) and spending the weekend looking irrationally and erratically at the Sky Sports Football Score Centre app and hoping that Jeff Stelling will tell you that Palace have won.

Yes, we moan and whine and vow half-heartedly never ever to go again/to rip up our season ticket/to support a half decent team. I repeatedly deride bloody Palace for being bloody useless and even if we were 5-0 up with five minutes until the end, I would still be nervous; there is no denying it. We don't have the money or the stature of a club like Manchester City. We get ridiculed, taunted as being boring 'Nigels' and we certainly don't always have a lot of luck.

Yet even though my old scarf may be tattered, the corners of the 'Holmesdale - Last Stand' poster that is proudly displayed in the Greenbrook ‘Playroom’ (refurbished, sadly, to become an outdoor storage space) may be peeling and the face paints are fading, they will always be Super Palace from Sel-hurst and will hold a special place in my heart.

As the Holmesdale Fantatics would encourage me to say, I am Palace till I die.

We may have lost tonight and our hearts broken once more, but I'll always be feeling Glad all Over watching this very special team.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VomkssQel8g]

The inimitable David Lynch and a little town called Twin Peaks

There is something about piercingly cold winter and the deep, inky darkness that brings out the macabre in me. Bewitched by the lasting, mysterious nights my thoughts easily turn to the supernatural, the sinister and the slightly surreal and who better than the inimitable David Lynch to set these atmospheric tones.

I was, and remain to this decade, a fervent Twin Peaks fan. From the moment Laura Palmer’s naked corpse was discovered wrapped in plastic on the bank of a river and FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper arrived in the sleepy town to investigate, I was completely hooked.

What begins as a murder mystery turns into a complex unravelling of lives as Laura’s death sets off a remarkable chain of events and the quiet sleepy town falls apart at the seams.

Lynch’s work in my opinion was a TV revolution. It was complex and elliptical and interlaced with many elements of genius that I found absolutely enchanting. I became completely obsessed. There are far too many strands to note in this blog post; there were thirty episodes after all and I want you to watch the series from start to finish and become entranced yourself.

The owls are not what they seem

Essentially, I loved the consummate surrealism. This was no ordinary murder mystery after all; there were eerie visions and evil spirits, a One-Armed Man named Mike, The Man from Another Place in a red business suit who spoke in reverse, The Giant who provides clues to the murderer in visions, and those dense, ominous woods that surrounded Twin Peaks and provided the setting for many of the otherworldly goings on.

Then there was the evil BOB who appeared in visions and absolutely terrified me then, and still does. Sometimes when I am alone in the house contentedly reading or watching TV, an image of that grey-haired man and that filthy denim jacket abruptly pops into my head and I have to put a few more lights on, turn the music up just a little bit louder. Call my Mum. That sort of thing.

http://youtu.be/HBNAwi5q_Y4

The late Frank Silva, who played BOB, actually became a key character in the series purely by chance. When production began on the pilot for Twin Peaks, the series creators Lynch and Mark Frost decided that Laura Palmer's dad would be the murderer. It was only during the filming of a scene in the pilot that took place in Laura's room that Silva, a set dresser, accidentally trapped himself in the room by moving a dresser in front of the door. Lynch, being Lynch, liked the idea of this and filmed him crouched at the foot of Laura's bed, looking through the bars of the footboard, as if he were 'trapped' behind them. In fact, he liked it so much he decided to make Silva part of the series.

Later that same day, a scene was being filmed in which Laura's mother experiences a terrifying vision although the script doesn't indicate what she sees. Lynch liked the scene, but was informed by a crew member that it would need to be re-shot as a mirror in the scene had inadvertently picked up someone's reflection. That person was Silva, there was no need to re-shoot, and the rest is history. It was crazy but it was David Lynch and therefore it all made perfect sense.

Falling into the music

There was the soundtrack, composed by the great Angelo Badalamenti (who recently wrote the screen play for Drive) and David Lynch in 1989. It was accomplished, being both eerie and enthralling at the same time and evoked the moods and emotions that played out so dramatically throughout the series. Apparently, in twenty minutes they produced the signature theme for the series and Lynch told Badalamenti 'you just wrote 75% of the score. It's the mood of the whole piece. It is Twin Peaks'. The music is characterised by haunting melodies, throbbing bass and jazz and light percussion. The theme song Falling still gives me goosebumps and has found its way onto my Spotify playlist along with the rest of the soundtrack.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srqIymNRVYc]

Population 15,201

There was the enigmatic characters – seemingly ordinary people going about their own business but in truth complex individuals who were hiding secrets of their own. The esoteric Agent Dale Cooper who appeared in all of the episodes and the pilot was, in my opinion, the stand-out character with his unorthodox investigatory methods and his love of the rural town. Lynch casted several veteran actors who had found fame in the 1950s and 1960s in the series, including film stars such as Richard Beymer who played the wealthy business man Ben Horne and was well-known as playing Tony in West Side Story. Piper Laurie played the adulterous and scheming Catherine Martell who made her name in Hollywood playing alongside Ronald Regan, and British actor James Booth best known for Zulu and Coronation Street played Ernie Niles whose criminal past catches up with him in Season Two.

Most of the characters were hiding some kind of secret beneath their day-to-day personas, none more so than the troubled Laura Palmer, who we learn was leading a shocking double life - homecoming queen and loving daughter on the outside, cocaine addict, prostitute and manipulator in the secret life she led deep within those dark woods.

The Women of Twin Peaks

Mostly, I wanted to be in Twin Peaks. I wanted to live there, in that sleepy little Washington town and look like any one of those girls that made the show. I was particularly captivated by the glossiness of the female characters - the sultry, beautiful girls who looked like vintage movie stars, were often vulnerable but showed a tough exterior and completely bewitched all of the men that lived there.

Sheryl Lee played the infamous Laura Palmer so brilliantly, with satiny blonde hair, a perfect smile and such sad, haunting eyes that shielded so many terrible secrets.

Lara Flynn Boyle played Donna Hayward, the good-girl-turned-bad following the death of her best friend, with chestnut, tumbling curls, red lips and porcelain skin.

Audrey Horne personified the '50s glamour look that has had such a resurgence in recent times. With short black curls, dark red lips and striking eyes she mesmerised Agent Cooper with her Elizabeth Taylor looks and sultry movements.

Madchen Amick played Shelly Johnson, the long-suffering wife of violent Leo with flowing wavy hair, striking eyes and a captivating appeal.

Lana del Rey, eat your heart out.

Clever pieces of a complex puzzle

There were many elements to the Twin Peaks story that captivated the audience beyond the series itself. The film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, can be viewed as both an epilogue and a prologue and provides us with an insight into the last seven days in the life of Laura Palmer. Agent Cooper's autobiography, presented as diary transcripts from his infamous tape recordings ends with the news of Laura Palmer's murder and Cooper 'Heading for a little town called Twin Peaks...'

The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer contains important clues to the identity of her killer and serves as prequel to the Twin Peaks story. In the book we discover how her inner demons drove her to use everyone around her - her best friend, her family and neighbours and mostly all those boys and men who fell under her spell. It was a fascinating glimpse into an innocent girl who became amoral and we find out exactly why she behaved the way she did. It is shocking, graphic and an absolute page turner.

Twin Peaks sadly ended with an unresolved cliff-hanger but the magic of a series that featured murder, incest and demonic possession lives on over twenty-five years later in my eyes. Its influence is present in TV and modern filmmaking, in fashion and beauty and David Lynch still continues to mystify and enthrall, recently putting his directing skills to good use in a campaign for Dom Pérignon.  There are blogs (my favourite is Welcome to Twin Peaks), fact-filled web pages, endless memorabilia and there is even a festival, Twin Peaks Fest, in August 2012 and held around North Bend, WA. Now that would be interesting.

I am signing off now. It is getting very dark outside and I can almost smell the ferns and hear the owls flapping (although they are not what they seem). I am going to pour myself a damn fine cup of coffee, turn out the lights and transport myself back to Twin Peaks, population 51,201. It may take me a while to get to sleep tonight and I am certainly not going anywhere near the sofa, but it was all absolutely worth it.

A guide to job hunting for the very disheartened hunter

Searching for a job right now? Here are some tips to help you keep your head safely above those perilous waters.

1.     Get Up Everybody

Get up at the same time as your working husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/flatmate/etc every single day. Lying in bed till midday when you are thirty-three and job hunting is not the same as lying in bed when you are twenty-three after a night out on the town. Believe me, it holds no pleasure and pretty soon the guilt will get you. That elusive job you really want will not come looking for you, hidden beneath the warm duvet. It can be exceedingly tough but drag yourself out of bed and embrace the day! (I know, I know. I'm annoying myself).

2.     U Got the Look

Make sure you wash and get dressed immediately on rising. In normal clothes. It sounds straightforward I know, but before you know it, it is midday and you are still festering in your favourite tartan pyjamas tapping away on your laptop. Dressed? Well done! But seriously, you are wearing that? Step away. Those baggy, nomadic travel trousers paired with that t-shirt may have looked edgy at this summer's festival three pints of cider down, but believe me, you will feel foolish when the postman knocks, your Amazon delivery arrives or you bump into a neighbour while popping out to get milk looking like a deranged hippy in sequins. I am not talking high fashion or channelling your inner supermodel, just wear something relatively normal. I promise that it will leave you better prepared for the day ahead and help keep you focused and motivated. Power dressing! So ‘80s, but so good.

3.     Control

Sounds a bit bossy and rigid, but stay in control of your day and compartmentalise your activities. Clever planning is the key to a productive and happy you. Make a clear, realistic and attainable list the night before of what you want to achieve the following day – activity relating to your job search, those pesky admin tasks/online banking/birthday cards to write, a personal email you have been meaning to send for ages etc and build these activities into your day.

Writing a plan the night before will set you up for the day ahead. Do not waste time writing an elegant list in the morning or making it look fancy or even colour-coordinated.  Procrastination is opportunity’s assassin. (I just looked that up). Factor in breaks to avoid burn out and if you are meeting a friend for lunch, build that into your plan too and work hard right up to the point where you need to leave. Guaranteed you will enjoy it more and can reward yourself for your hard work and amazing superpowers of organisation.

Do not, however, beat yourself up if you have not achieved everything you intended to. Maybe you overloaded your list. No problem at all – just stick it on tomorrow’s list.

So to compartmentalise is to conquer. It will give you a sense of achievement that you might be lacking  right now. There is something really rather satisfying about ticking something off of your list. ‘Watch E! News’. Check.

4.     Banana Pancakes (and other food)

Always eat breakfast - at breakfast time. This does not mean eat Crunchy Nut Cornflakes out of the packet with one hand at 10.45am while typing a covering letter with the other. A proper breakfast will set you up for the day. Have a spot of lunch too, and do what you would normally do if you were at work during your lunch break (improvise creatively if you do not have a flagship Top Shop opposite your house). Ensure you drink water throughout the day to stay hydrated. Bored of water? Simply add a slice of lemon, lime or mint to add some zest. Nibble on super foods throughout the day, especially if you are at home. Nuts, whole grain foods, berries, eggs, green tea, and even dark chocolate can have a powerful effect on the brain’s energy, how your mind handles tasks and your general mood.

Happy eating.

 5.     You’re the Best Around

Stay positive and dare to be courageous. Pah, easy for you to say! I hear you shout. Look, do not get me wrong. I know how terrifically hard it is and some days you just feel like telling your PMA to FO (that's positive mental attitude and the second word of the second acronym is Off). Quite frankly, it all feels like the biggest ball ache ever (this word is a trademark of Ms Carolyn Dickson and Ms Sarah Louise Carter-Hounslow).

In the words of Dickens, it is all about Great Expectations. Research has shown that if you think what you want often you get it. So go get it. Always wanted to work in retail marketing? Do some research, find out how to apply and fling over your CV with a stand out covering letter firmly attached to the back of it. You never know, Mary Portas might be that very moment scratching her head thinking 'hmm, if only I had a super efficient HR person to complete my flourishing empire' as your email hits her PA’s inbox. Don't try, don't get.

6.     That’s What Friends are For

I am going to be honest now. Or transparent which is a very good HR word. In my darkest moments when my nearest and dearest have had (in my mind) the audacity to moan about their jobs, my inner voice has shouted but at least you have a job! and I have wanted to flounce off somewhere and sob. But that is entirely unfair. Yes, it feels safe and secure to be in full-time or even contracted employment but that does not necessarily mean it is not highly stressful, mindbogglingly dull or involves an interaction with a boss who would make Anna Wintour seem like, really really sweet. Try not to take it personally. Be empathetic - not envious. Listen and offer words of advice or an open ear. You will be moaning about your job again before you know it.

Having said that, surround yourself with good, positive people and let their concerned and helpful vibes be the fuel that drives you. Thank the ones that genuinely want to help and keep an eye out for any opportunities for you. Avoid the ones who make you feel bad for now.

7.     The Lazy Song

Give yourself a break and do things you could only dream of when your last job had you chained to your desk at 8.00pm. Meet your maternity leave friends fora cheap bite, read the book that everyone has been talking about. Spend time with children - they can make any miserable day seem utterly joyous just with a smile (by this I mean children you know, like ones in your family or whose mother is your friend. Not random children).

Take a break in a coffee shop or pub and read a book instead of a professional update. Hey, go crazy and order a glass of wine. Feels good right? Stop feeling guilty. If you have followed my advice you would have compartmentalised your day, worked really hard and done something brave today so cut yourself some slack. Besides, if you were at work you would not be working every single millisecond of the day. You would stop every now and then for a breather. So stop.

8.     I Like to Move It

Do something active every day. I am not referring to a feat of marathonian proportions. Go for a walk, hit the gym, try that rumba class in the church hall you could never get to. Dance on your own at home. Exercise decreases the stress hormones such as cortisol and increases endorphins. Endorphins are the body's natural feel good chemicals, and when they are released through exercise, your mood is boosted naturally. Just half an hour a day will keep you alert, focused and positive – and give you a break away from the dastardly screen.

9.     You’re the Devil in Disguise

Do not, whatever you do, sell your soul to the devil AKA the recruitment consultant. Some recruitment agencies are utterly brilliant. They get back to you when they say they will. They address you by the correct name, which is a plus. They have your best interests at heart and want to find you a job you can do, not a quick fix to nail their targets and earn their sizeable commission (to my followers in the recruitment world, that is you!).

Some however are twaddle. They have an accredited qualification in reverse psychology. They do not pay attention to a single word you say about your needs, your aspirations. You would rather do anything, anything at all, then schlep to their offices, complete a 92-page registration form, suffer the humiliation of talking about what you did in 2001 only to have them say ‘OK, we don’t have anything for you at the moment’ at the end of the two hours.

So be selective and only go to the agencies where you feel confident they can help you. Remember, there are hundreds of agencies but only a handful of good ones. You are in control. Do not rely on recruitment agencies only; cast the net as wide as you possibly can. Network with all your contacts you have made over the years, use LinkedIn, make direct approaches to organisations, and scour the best job boards. Do not put all your CVs in one basket.

10.  Don’t Worry Be Happy

Do something every day that makes you smile, and treat yourself. This depends on what floats your boat and what your bank account permits. Me? The former is fashion and music and the latter is that mine permits bugger all. So today I looked at  Tim Walker's website, YouTubed one of my favourite film scenes

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tJoIaXZ0rw]

and played my current favourite song very, very loud. Earthquake by Labrinth ft. Tinie Tempah since you are asking. Hi-wired synths and massive beats and scattered with a few obscenities (see point 11). Plus this is a win-win situation as hopefully it disturbs the person on my street who is playing euro-house music way too loud for three pm on a Monday afternoon. Right back at you.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0fk6syQ7iY]

11.  (You’ve got me feeling) Emotions

Warning. This follows directly after point 10.

Ride the emotional rollercoaster - cry, swear, mope, just do what feels good and go with what you are feeling that day. Some days you are utterly sick to your back teeth of rejection. The only job you possibly have the skills to apply for is based in Peterborough and you are all LinkedOut. You feel hopeful when the first email in two hours pops into your inbox only to discover it is from a sender named Wasteland Ski and there is Only 4 more days to get Free Goggles!

There is no denying it, job hunting sucks. Crying is thought to reduce stress and may go some way to remove toxic substances from the body. So go on, have a big old sob and let it all out. Then breathe, blow your nose and focus on the task ahead. Still not done? Swearing is good. Try it. It will make you feel empowered. Just avoid using this tactic on actual people; that is just rude. Finally, have a good mope about. Idly flick through the TV channels, nonchalantly peruse the contents of the fridge, scrutinize the IKEA catalogue for a sofa bed. Believe me, you will soon become fatigued.

12.        Daydream Believer

Lastly, job hunting can get you down. It is a thankless task that involves too much time on your own. So why not pursue another interest or hobby that you have been putting off for years or do something you simply never have time to do. Hopeful horticulturist? Budding Buddhist? Amateur Astrologist? Or do you just simply want to clean out that pesky kitchen cupboard or transfer your summer clothes into storage to prepare your wardrobe for autumnal wear? Use this time productively while you have it and try to squeeze something out of every day. Build it into your 'list' and as long as you dedicate sufficient and proportionate time to finding a job, there is absolutely no reason to feel guilty.

It will give you that all important sense of achievement, an extra string to add to your bow and who knows where it'll take you. It is OK to dream.

Keep the faith, hunters and good luck.

RIHANNA ROCKS. Um, really?

The November edition of UK Vogue has just landed on my desk with a thump, bringing with it the turn of the season and an army of delicious autumnal fashion to do battle with the drop in temperature. (OK, that's a lie. I bought it myself from the magazine kiosk on the Euston Road with £4.10 scraped together with the last two and one pence pieces in my wallet, but the former sounds much more glamorous and fashion-y as befits the style bible).

Anyway I digress. Staring back at me defiantly from the sky-blue cover in Giorgio Armani Privé and short blonde wig was Rihanna. I felt disappointed. My usual enthusiasm deflated like a burst balloon.

Rihanna is a beautiful, successful and talented young woman at the top of her game and her Vogue debut has been highly anticipated – plus we all know celebrity sells magazines. I (only just) accept the fashion connection – her style evolution has been fascinating to watch and she steps out in all the right names. Finally, I applaud Condé Nast for recognising that not all Vogue readers are white, emaciated and hail from Notting Hill (although the cover comes not without some controversy - Alexandra Shulman has had to respond to the blogosphere and confirm that no skin lightening has taken place for Rihanna’s cover).

What I do have a considerable problem with is that ultimately I no longer consider Rihanna to be an empowering role model for women, due to the tiresome onslaught of raunchy images and lazy and offensive lyrics. I am bored of the vulgarity – she may be bad but she’s perfectly good at being degrading.

Before I am accused of being prudish, I am not a prude. A couple of Rihanna tracks have been hanging around on my iPod for a while now and I can’t deny that I’ve probably danced along after a few drinks in a club. Plus, if men can talk openly about sex through the medium of music then why the hell can’t women? Madonna's been leading that battle for decades. As Dodai Stewart, deputy editor of the US pop culture blog Jezebel, points out, female artists are systematically encouraged to capitalise on their sexuality. 'Female artists are definitely sexualised more often, which helps sell albums, but they're also criticised for being so sexual. Women can't win'.

This may be true, but Rihanna is not helping the battle. On the cover of Rolling Stone magazine in April 2011 she is described as Pop’s Queen of Pain and we are seduced into turning the page to find out about Sexting, Bad Boys & Her Attraction to the Dark Side. Yawn.

Jay-Z was photographed on the cover of the same publication in a suit and a tie. Much more interesting.

So, why has it got to be dirty and submissive to get attention? Rihanna says she is no role model and wishes people would stop trying to make her into one. In the Vogue article she says ‘people – especially white people – they want me to be a role model just because of the life I lead. The things I say in my songs, they expect it of me and [being a role model] became more of my job than I wanted it to be’. Like it or not Rihanna, being in the spotlight and all the advantages of success bring some responsibility - women, especially young girls, automatically look up to you (and men are looking you up and down).

To me, Rihanna continues to present an extreme portrayal of female over-sexualisation. You can’t escape the demeaning lyrics. When I see the music videos for S&M and Love the Way you Lie I don’t see art or something to admire. I see the glamorisation of domestic violence. Which is not romantic. It is just ugly. Her new video for We Found Love? Seen. It. All. Before.

It was Natasha Walter and Kat Banyard who last year were campaigning for a change in the law to stop the ‘pornification’ of society which they said promotes violence against women. Rihanna is hardly doing the cause any favours with her own take on pop-porn. Is this really the message we want to send out to our future stars – wear less, shatter the boundaries and give the men what they want?

I persevered and read the Vogue article in full, searching for something other than raunchiness and I was surprised that she came across as quite endearing and earnest. She has sold over sixty million singles and twenty million albums and is also involved in many philanthropic projects, with her own Believe Foundation created in 2006 to help terminally ill children. So why don’t we see more of this rather than her backside?

So, that is why I am ultimately disappointed with the choice of cover for November. You can reserve this type of 'role model' for all the Zoo, Maxim and FHM readers; for the men who still think it’s acceptable to shout abuse at women in the street or grope women in a bar after a few too many drinks, thank you very much.

The December issue of Vogue featuring a strong, intelligent woman who cares about other women? Cheers. I’ll (Drink to That).

Wind

I am talking the weather condition here, before you stop reading with a grimace.

Today I officially announce wind as the most annoying form of weather. According to Wikipedia, wind has inspired mythology, influenced the events of history, expanded the range of transport and warfare, and provided a power source for mechanical work, electricity and recreation.

I am all up for that, really I am. But today, it irritated the hell out of me.

Today's wind caused mayhem in minutes; it lifted up my skirt resulting in an unhelpful bum-flash near Warren Street station. It blew my hair around in all sorts of crazy directions, before finally sticking it in my newly applied lip-gloss. It rendered my umbrella completely useless and blew a wet plastic bag in my face along the busiest part of Tottenham Court Road. Nice.

It distorted important phone calls and made everyone grouchy and touchy and generally a bit fed up of the bracing, gusty swirling of it all. It created a bit of a to-do on New Oxford Street too, all because of a wild and unruly backwards umbrella-in-face-incident.

Other weather phenomena are nowhere near as offensive. Sun is all-round-sensational. Rain can be quite romantic as long as you're adequately covered. Snow, a former enemy of mine, is admittedly pretty.

But wind; blustery, breezy, howling wind is something I’ve got absolutely no time for whatsoever.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqs1YXfdtGE&w=420&h=315]

(I've Had) The Time of My Life

MONDAY 4 JULY, 4.30 PM, EEST

I am writing this on a very big ferry to Naxos, a beautiful Greek island in the Cyclades group, having left Athens at 4pm this afternoon. Opposite me is my husband Alex, asleep on his now rather dog-eared copy of The Catcher in the Rye. There are lots of cool, laid-back Greek passengers smoking, reading and talking animatedly. I am leaning on the July issue of Vogue and there is a lot of azure blue surrounding me. Out of the corner of my left eye my wedding ring is glinting in the beautiful sunshine. I feel very content.

The bright azure blue floor is finally dry following yet another spillage by me, of tea, on an unfortunate man's suitcase. Perhaps being married may actually in some inexplicable way cure me of my clumsiness, but the magic has not starting working yet. Anyway, I digress. Five hours on a ferry seems like a perfect opportunity to write, specifically, about our wedding day. I desperately want to capture all the memories before the last little drops of detail evaporate. I want to remember every last bit but already my brain is filling up with new treats - the honeymoon so far, what to do when we get back, the future.

So, as the bright orange sun sets quickly into the horizon, piercing a brilliant amethyst sky, I am going to do my best to write it down as quickly as I can.

So from a busy ferry sailing on the Aegean sea to a quiet Farmhouse in Suffolk...

WEDNESDAY 29 JUNE, 7AM, BST

The Farmhouse....

I open one eye and wonder firstly where I am and then what time it is. The slumberous moment subsides and I quickly realise I am in my comfy big bed in the Farmhouse at Haughley Park Barn, Stowmarket, and it is 7am. Last night, I literally woke up on the hour, every hour and worry that poor Danuta, my best friend and bridesmaid fast asleep next to me, probably did not catch a wink either. I feel excited, nervous, rather nauseous - a whole bunch of emotions. When we finally got to bed last night, I felt very little in this big bed and worried that I would not sleep at all. I had woken up during the night only to see my dress hanging up on its soft satin hanger, glinting mischievously at me in the moonlight. It almost seemed to say 'YES Greenbrook, this really is happening' as I had crawled back under the duvet and prayed that sleep would finally come.

So, at last it is morning. A quick, quiet peek out the curtains reveals a beautiful view and no rain. Yes! As if on cue, the glamorous mother-of-the-bride opens the door with a huge mug of tea and an enveloping hug. 'This is it, your wedding day!' she says. It feels like the first day of school, Christmas Day, being on the aeroplane to Australia, and meeting Alex Kirby (a friend of Joseph Brownett) for a secret drink in Holborn, all at once. I hug her again and sort of do not want to let go, and so return the hug for just a bit longer.

Downstairs to the Farmhouse kitchen for a breakfast of poached egg on toast and cereal as ordered by Mrs Greenbrook. I can barely eat, but Brides magazine dictates that I MUST eat, regularly in fact, and that is, like, The Bible. The mood is light and fun. My big sister Jo Foreman, with baby bump, arrives with a cheery smile as does Roy a few seconds later, father-of-the-bride looking remarkably calm as if it was Saturday morning at the Greenbrook House and we had all paid a quick visit before he settles down with a bacon sarnie to watch the racing, rather than his middle daughter's wedding day. Then, the final piece of the jigsaw, little GB/AKA Michelle/AKA Mich; bronzed and very Australian and already making everyone laugh. I am already showered and sporting a very bright aqua playsuit, which was the only thing I could remove from my honeymoon suitcase earlier that morning without creating a packing disaster. Note to future brides - please do bring something white and bridal to wear while you are getting ready. I look more beach than exquisite bride-to-be, an image that sadly the photos will always remind me of.

A knock at the door and the amazing Nicola arrives with her makeup box of tricks. 'I think the hairdresser is here' says Roy, spotting Nic's husband Aaron parking the car outside. Much hilarity ensues as we all wave at 'Aarono' our stylist, before the real stylist, Nic, and us girls head upstairs to the bridal room to get ready. Rollers in, Madonna playing out of the iPod and champagne chilling and the preparation begins.

The amethyst bridesmaid dresses are hanging up, the ivory shoes are lined up neatly on the floor and Chanel Coco Mademoiselle Eau de Parfum is waiting elegantly on the dressing table. A delicate white gold bracelet in a gold padded box is resting amongst the other sparkling accessories, a present from Dad last night, engraved with the words Nicola, with love, Dad. 29.6.2011. This had provoked the first round of many tears.

Nic operates with military precision to get the bride and three bridesmaids rollered up and in makeup. Jo the florist arrives with the flowers, and they are vintage and vibrant in shades of peach, amethyst and rose-pink and I adore them. In the background, Mark the photographer snaps away and puts everyone at ease, wowing the ladies with his invaluable knowledge of all things bride (Have you got a crochet hook? Um, a what? etc) and keeps the conversation running smoothly to ward off any nerves with only a couple of hours to go. With the Foo Fighters gig in only a few days, Mark recounts to me a tale of him and his wife at a gig in Brixton and Dave Grohl using her shoulder to lever himself into the crowd. 'She tells people she's never washed that shoulder since', says Mark, as I laugh, looking absurd in aqua with huge rollers protruding from my head, but feeling quite calm. I look out of the window and see my future brother-in-law Craig playing football and I smile - it is so nice to have him and Mich back albeit for a short time.

It feels safe, surreal, and quite wonderful all at the same time getting ready in the Farmhouse with everyone chattering and laughing - like being hidden in a brilliant cocoon and we are all having such a good time. News from the Chapel suddenly comes courtesy of my Brother-in-Law, Mr Jon Foreman looking suave with a beaming smile. 'The Groom has arrived!' he announces up the stairs. Reality hits home and although my legs start to shake like jelly, I cannot wait to see Alex. I go off in search of my Dad, peeking my head around the door to his bedroom where he is stealing a secret moment to practice his speech. I know I will never ever forget this moment.

All of a sudden, time is accelerating too quickly. I can literally feel everything rushing past my ears with a whoosh. Nic's magical intervention has transformed my hair into a voluminous retro up-do, my Emmy hairpiece that I had loved from the moment I saw it and will always thank my Mum for persuading me to buy, is secured to my head with a hundred grips.

My makeup is finished but I am far too nervous to look in the mirror. It is now time to get into the dress and I don't know how I am going to do it, as I honestly can barely stand up. Jen, my dear Mother-in-Law-to-be in vibrant emerald-green pops up the stairs for a quick farewell and I squeeze her hand and tell her how amazing she looks.

I am in the dress with the help of my Mum and Jo, Mich and Danuta and for one fleeting moment I find myself on my own as everyone disappears to their rooms to make last-minute touch ups. Time literally stands still and it is indescribable. It was all I could do not to guzzle the glass of champagne someone had helpfully put in my hand. Chloe, the gorgeous flower girl suddenly arrives with her Mum, my cousin Gemma, looking stunning as ever. Chloe looks adorable in her dress and loves her flower basket. The bridesmaids look absolutely beautiful as I knew they would and I think I am going to cry. Jo tells me not to look at her as she will start crying too, but I cannot help it, the baby bump is peeking out from her dress and I want to give my future niece/nephew a little rub. Mich comes over and again, I think DO NOT CRY and ruin all of Nic's hard work.

The veil is fixed in place and I say my last goodbye to my Mum, breathtakingly stunning in muted silver with matching hat, before she makes her way to the Chapel.

I carefully slip my feet into my wedding shoes, made by Emmy for the day in taupe suedette and finished with rose gold bead detail to compliment the headpiece. I descend the stairs, carefully and meet Barbara and Wendy, our Registrars, in the Farmhouse dining room for a quick run through of events. Suddenly, it is time to go and we all depart for a short walk to the Chapel. As my feet crunch against the gravel, I hold onto my Dad for dear life and sneak a glance at him - so handsome in his suit, very calm, his eyes shining as he looks ahead at Jo and Mich. The amazing man who has made me roar with laughter all my life, said goodbye worriedly at many airports, given me advice and soothed numerous tears and injuries - I feel so proud and swallow a lump that is rising in my throat.

Now just outside the Chapel, we are greeted by Steve the Toastmaster who looks truly resplendent in a bright scarlet jacket. He is happy and calm as he lines us up ready to go in, the billowing Chapel curtain concealing the one hundred and twenty guests inside. I can hear Mendelssohn's Wedding March, but it seems really far away, like in another time and place. Suddenly, the girls enter the chapel and I can hear gasps. As Barbara has instructed me to do before I make my entrance, I start counting 1-2-3...I feel a bit like I am falling...4-5-6... or sky diving out of a plane again, 7-8...'Ready?' asks Roy with a grin... 9-10... the curtain goes back.

The Chapel...

It is like a photo flash. I retain one camera-still in my mind of all our guests in the Chapel, all the people I love dearly smiling and crying happily and it is magnificent. I see Rob (more fondly known as Skee) first who gives me a huge encouraging grin, then Rufus, Seb and Tony all looking dapper and then a quick glance to the left reveals 'Aunty' Kate in the most gorgeous blue, next to her husband Dave, and then lots of other smiling faces come at me far too quickly to absorb. Lastly, I see my gorgeous Despina and her husband Richard, and then my eyes are drawn to the front and all I can see is him. Alex, so handsome in a grey suit, looks absolutely amazing as his head slowly turns around, tears fill his eyes and he smiles that beautiful smile. 'Oh my God' he mouths, and then winks at me, smiles and tries to hold it all together as I try my hardest as well.

The ceremony passes by so quickly; my dear friend Sarah reads an extract from Captain Corelli's Mandolin so beautifully that it reduces my Mum and Dad to tears. Alex and I say our vows and I fluff my words and try not to cry, and my nose is running and Barbara says gently 'could someone please bring Nicola a tissue'. Could someone please stop this moment in time so it never ends? Please? The best men Craig and Mark look simply splendid. As do my Mum and Dad to the left, and Alex's Mum and Dad to the right, Jenifer and Philip, and I feel I might burst with pride. Somehow, the vows are over and it is now finally time to kiss Alex, hurrah, and we are married to the sounds of a huge cheer! We sign the register, as our chosen songs play in the background.

Angus and Julia Stone's 'Just a Boy' catapults me back to our last day in Australia together in 2008 and Everlong by the Foo Fighters, well, for so many reasons. It is time to leave and to the sound of To be Surprised by Sondre Lerche we float down the Chapel and I try unsuccessfully to look at everyone and smile while wanting to look at Alex at the same time and take him all in. Physically impossible of course, but if I could have done it, believe me I would have.

Drinks Reception...

We are now outside in the bright, warm sunshine, and we can finally greet everyone. I am so blown away by how stunning and gorgeous everyone looks. Pimms and champagne is being served on the lawn, the vintage bunting is billowing in the gentle breeze and everybody appears to be in tremendous spirits and very relaxed and it is wonderful to watch. Photographs are taken with proud parents, Uncle Richard, the gorgeous bridesmaids and best men and Steve is overseeing proceedings expertly as I talk to my amazing guests.

First up is Team HR, AKA Linda, Alex D, Harriet and Gemma who are on top form and smiling and it is like being in Kiln House again, except I am in a wedding dress. I spot two of my best mates, Sarah who is glowing from her reading with her smiling boyfriend Chris, and Ben with his beautiful fiancé Vikki, chatting to each other. They are reunited for the first time since our Downsview Primary School days and we reminisce and I want to hug the life out of both of them. I spot Gin and Al and Ben and Laura, all looking so amazing and happy and think how lucky I am to have met them through Alex, I have so many amazing memories already of time spent with them. Vicky and Paul are laughing and look so happy and then Maxine and Mickey come over and say what a lovely day they're having. If our reception this evening is anything like theirs was, then I know we have done a good job. I give my godmother and cousin Sharon a kiss and ask her partner Marc to keep snapping away on his professional camera. My cousin Dave is with Julie who I'm happy to be introduced to and I tell him I have put extra vegetables in his dinner tonight as I know he loves them (not). I can hear the loud crack of croquet balls and the playing of other garden games and it is so serene and lovely and brilliantly British. I give Emma and Steve a kiss and go off in search of my husband. En route, I see Barbara and Dennis and go over to say hello, trying not well up as I give Barbara a hug as I have known them all of my life.

Alex and I sneak off for a walk in the blooming maze of the Secret Garden (with Mark emerging every now to photograph the moment) and there is so much I want to say but I cannot say it all at once. Without warning, Mich appears out of a bush, armed with a comb and a can of Dry Shampoo. She sprays my fringe to within an inch of its life to refresh it and I am grateful to have secret stylists that pop out of the foliage and then disappear into the day. Back to the lawn and all of a sudden time to start the receiving line which provides an opportunity to say hello. To everyone, hurrah!

Wedding Breakfast...

We are announced in as Mrs and Mrs Kirby to boisterous cheers and it is amazing as we walk into Haughley Park Barn and see all of our lovely guests seated at our Cornwall-themed tables with the fairy lights twinkling against the wooden beams. It is time for the wedding breakfast to begin and Peter, the legend that is our wedding DJ, gets the celebrations started with an eclectic mix of music which includes Dean Martin, the Drums, The Smiths, Stevie Wonder and many more. The food smells delicious and the retro sweets in candy pink bags seem to go down well (Mich is tucking into her bag before the starters are served and I give her a big smile). Much vino is consumed, at the request of Mr and Mrs Greenbrook, and I feel so relaxed and happy. I look over and see Janine, Jonathan, Aimee, Lauren, John, David and Deanne on table Gorran Haven all laughing and smiling. Janine catches my eye and we have a little dance, across the room and still in our seats, just me and her. That's Amore by Dean Martin plays and I look over at Danuta and tell her 'this one's for you D!' and we have a little dance too. Gareth comes over to the top table and says excitedly 'this is the best wedding music EVER, I've got every single song on my iPod!' and we grin.

The dinner is in full swing now and there is much merriment and frivolity. Uncle Steve has Aunty Nellie's hat on and the Naughty Table (Val, Jim, Derek, Janice, Dave, Kate, Celia and Phil, you know who you are) are causing havoc at the back. If You Wanna be Happy by Jimmy Soul comes on and I glance over at Karen, KP to us, who is wearing all my favourite colours in one stunning dress, and smile as this song reminds me of her and very happy holidays spent with our families. Dad and I stand up and do a quick sweep of the room and ask each table 2 very important questions - 'Are you having a good time?' and 'Do you have enough wine?' to which we receive a very loud and happy 'YES!' from each Cornish table in return. My Aunty Ann and her children, my lovely cousins, are all smiling on Cawsand Bay and John is holding Chloe on his lap while Gem looks on proudly.

It's time to cut the cake, or rather demolish it. We have slightly massacred our beautiful cake made by our favourite pub in the village of Bramfield, but Alex and I laugh at the mess we have made, and hope it is still edible when our guests are in need of something sweet later on in the evening.

Speeches...

Toasts for the speeches are handed out and I feel excited; this is always my favourite part of any wedding. Dad's speech is perfect and I take a guess that it has been reviewed by Mum before the final version goes live - it is funny, poignant, very emotional and even contains a reference to the much loved Crystal Palace Football Club which is met by chant of Eaaggggglllesss from the South London massive in the crowd, the loudest  I am sure coming from Neil AKA Smoothie and Marco. Poor Alex and John and Leslie, loyal West Ham supporters. Dad reads out a message from Joe and Alexis and I cry, as I wish they were here so much. Without Joe, today would not have happened.

Alex stands up - welcoming the ladies, gentlemen and Spurs fans in the room (sorry Matt, Martin and Seb). He is very nervous and there is a fleeting moment where the carefully prepared speech disappears from his iPhone (ever the designer). Order is quickly restored and he is speaking and reducing me to tears and it is just so beautiful, especially the reference to the love we share through the good and difficult times. 'We have the best time, all the time and I love you so much' he concludes and I couldn't agree more. Awooga! heckles the ever brilliant Jaimi from 'Harlyn Bay', after having exhausted all normal heckling options.

Craig, Bestest Best Man one of two, takes the stage and absolutely smashes it. It is hilarious and he is on top form - just the right side of funny, not too crude or excruciating for Alex and as the fantastic Paul and Harinie say later, it is just brilliant. I love it and guffaw the whole way through, a brief tear shed as a message from Randall and Kade is read out from New Zealand, as Alex laughs along, looks nervous and blushes slightly.

Coffees and First Dance...

Time for coffees outside in the Courtyard, with vibrant Union Jack cushions on the chairs and fairy lights twinkling in the tree, and the arrival of the evening guests. Vicki looks just amazing as do Naomi, Tash, Sharmayne and Sue who rock maxi dresses and colour blocking and are just exquisite. Jean and John Mepsted arrive and I feel like a child again and it is so nostalgic and lovely to see them. Likewise with Jean and Trevor, who  have known since I was a baby and spent many a happy holiday with. All of a sudden it is time for the first dance and Steve asks us to take the floor. Steve is the perfect Toastmaster and I wonder if at this point he can also work miracles and do a Scott Bakula and Quantum Leap me back to 7am this morning so I can do it all again? We dance to Love, Love, Love by Donny Hathaway and I do not want to let my husband go. Ever. The dance floor fills and people start to join us. I finally get to talk to people individually and I am blown away by everyone's kind words. Seb and Sarah look so gorgeous, vintage, like old movie stars and Seb's words actually reduce me to tears. I spot Anne-Marie and Norman, dear friends of my parents, and I laugh and hope Anne-Marie is going to be her usual life and soul of the party.

Evening Reception...

The party starts with some Madonna and I have a little moment with Lou - super sassy in black dress and red lipstick - my fellow Madge geek. The dance floor is soon full thanks to Peter, DJ extraordinaire and it is non-stop dancing with requests coming at him swiftly. Skee dances past wearing Des' fascinator and the amazing Braham, Greenwood and Crosbie families, plus the lovely Ryan and Gem, with my Godmother and Aunty Joy in tow really get the party started and dance ALL NIGHT - I love them all. Cousin Simon looks so dapper in his suit. Rufus and Lorraine are terrific and are making an impact, as is Deanne and quite rightly so. Stevie Wonder gets Martin and Matt up and Aims and Lauren, looking wow, wow, wow, lead the hen girls in re-enacting the 80s Fame mega mix of Bath-Hen-Weekend-fame. Then, it's time for a little UK Garage and we are transported back to Pals Bar (people, you know who you are). Even Jonathan Mole is dancing although I'm still silently disappointed he didn't wear his 2wentys holidays t-shirt as he threatened to. I do not want the night to stop or end and when Peter plays Wicked by M-Beat featuring General Levy I know at that special moment I won't forget tonight. The sight and sound of everyone, and I mean everyone, dancing to Jungle from 1994 (big shout to Auntie Nellie - you are amazing) really is Incredible. Vicky and Jo are dancing with Danuta and it is like old times; it just needs Despina who is happily chattering outside to complete my beautiful girls. Dan, Sarah and Rob are dancing and appear to be in their element. Tony is dancing to SL2 whilst talking to Aunty Kate and it's a sight to behold. Nic, looking unbelievably foxy, has not left the dance floor all night and we have a moment of saying how special our friendship is.

10pm strikes and a mini-disaster is on our hands - the evening buffet is nowhere in sight which could result in some very hungry guests and nothing to soak up the wine. Disaster is soon averted as Jo, Mich and I find the evening buffet next door, in the Chapel room waiting to be freed of cling film and devoured in all its rustic glory. Announced by Mich in a way that only she could, she ascends the stage to grab the microphone off the unsuspecting Pete and shouts 'Right you lot. While you've been having a good time, I've been working hard next door making you loads of food...' and with that the buffet is open.

Mark and Gemma are dancing beautifully, like true professionals and I think how those dance classes are really paying off. Craig joins the girls for I Think We’re Alone Now and I teach him the routine. He is good. Too good really, and I wonder if he is a secret Tiffany fan? I spot Jason and Sarah and truly cannot wait for their upcoming nuptials in November. I get to meet Sarah and Vicky, respective partners of Alex's friends Ian and Ian, (honestly), and hope they're ok and not too overwhelmed by the musical hybrid of classic wedding pop/indie/UK Garage etc. I am dancing with Smoothie to Girlfriend by NSYNC and Nelly and SHOUTING very loudly. Alex tells me to eat something but I honestly do not want to waste a single drop of tonight, it's 11pm and only forty-five minutes of dancing with everyone remains before we go! I hold his hand but he is called away again....

11pm, and mini-disaster No. two strikes as I am accidentally 'chinned' by an over-enthusiastic dancing guest and worry that I cannot actually move my jaw. All throughout Like a Prayer I deliberate inwardly whether jaw is broken or if it aches just from smiling ALL DAY. Jo Tully grabs my arm and she looks so beautiful and I cannot believe I known her since I was born, she has always been like a big sister to me. Singing along I remember Islington-Hen and screeching along to this song in a happy champagne haze.

Time is literally running out, everyone is dancing and Time of my Life comes on so I know it is nearly the end. Mich is the 'Johnny' to my 'Baby' and performs a dramatic dance routine, joined in probably by every female guest present that makes me laugh and cry at the same time. Then, it really is time to go. I do not want to. I really do not. I sit down for a moment to catch my breath (and look for my shoes) and KP soothes me and asks gently 'Nic, are you ok?' and I say 'I don't want to go, we are having such a good time' and emit a kind of sob. Skee spots the tears and comes over, still wearing Despina's feather fascinator, to try to make me laugh with his all the best Peter Kay impression. I laugh through (maybe) broken jaw. Then Mum comes over to ask if I am ok, and I tell her through tears 'I don't want to go' followed by 'I think I have broken my jaw'. She hugs me gently and I feel like a child and not a 32-year old married woman. It feels like everything is all right at this moment in time and always will be. I have never loved her as much as I do now. A quick feel around my jaw from Mum and the diagnosis is that there is in fact no breakage - a well-practised Mum-tactic that she even has to pull out of the bag on my wedding day. As if by magic, the pain disappears and we really do have to go now.

Exiting through the biggest guest arch ever, I hold Alex's hand tightly and we duck under the hundreds of faces that fly past us far too quickly, but it is gorgeous just the same. Then, one last goodbye in a big circle, with Girls Just Wanna Have Fun on repeat while we say goodbye to all of our amazing guests.

As I leave the Barn and go forward with Alex into our next adventure, holding hands, the party is in full swing behind us and New York, New York is playing out. The guests are waving and clapping and blowing kisses and their silhouettes are getting smaller and smaller. Suddenly, Mich shouts 'NIC!' and we both turn around quickly to wave goodbye to her and all the other guests, the Barn lit up in the moonlight. I am crying of course, but I look at Alex and I cannot wait for our life ahead.

I cannot ever really truly describe that final  moment or the day itself but I do know it was sparkling and wonderful and I loved it.

It was the Time of my Life.

Mrs Kirby x