But spare-room or no (there wasn't one) we are now due to be married, after a proposal that caused envious females to usher Pip into dinner-parties as, 'the most romantic man in London. I was put on a plane at Gatwick wearing a blindfold; he had packed my luggage. I didn't know where we were going or for what and much to my amazement we touched down in Venice. The question was posed, ring and all.
On returning to England, I began a symbiotic relationship with Brides magazine, although I now fear I need Brides more than it needs me. It is clear Brides' chief aim is to terrify future brides with numerous choices of dress (162 in this month's issue).
Across London, my search began: Laura Ashley (too country), Harvey Nichols (no bridal department), and Harrods where the only dress about which I felt fairly keen had a price tag that would have given my father, kindly forking out for the whole do, a coronary. At Liberty's, however, my progress came to near-terminal halt.
I was ushered into a dressing-room about the size of a walk-in broom cupboard. The Liberty's assistant buttoned me into a pearled creation that threatened to cut off my circulation. She looked at me critically. 'I have to say that does you no favours, she said encouragingly. She prised me out of the dressing-room and paraded me before full-length mirrors and half-a-dozen Kate Moss lookalikes. I felt like an albino slug and wondered dimly whether for the pounds 2,000 tag that fluttered from the train I should be getting rather better treament. I decided to widen my search to include trouser-suits.
The dress has now been sorted out, courtesy of a designer in Richmond.
Rosie Millard is getting married on 10 September
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