It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...in India.

In case you missed it, my sister and the lovely Krish recently got married in a Hindu-Catholic Fusion extravanganza. T'was a beautiful day at Alnwick Gardens in Northumberland.

She looked a stunner in the morning...

...and as much of a stunner in the afternoon.

(I mega-love this photo. I love the pride radiating from my ma and pa's faces)

So we are going to India for part two. On Friday. For Christmas and New Year (although we leave at 4:30am on New Years Day, so no all-night-raving for me. Dammit. Ahem).

"Oh, how WONDERFUL!" gushes everyone when I tell them. Jane in the canteen. Pam in Admin Support. My camp hairdresser. "You must be so EXCITED!"

"Oh, yes, I am," I respond, nodding wildly. Inside I'm screaming. ARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHH. Who would have thought a holiday would be such an ordeal?

For a start, there was the most unhelpful website in the world: Indian Visas R Us. Gah. Trying to navigate around it was an absolute bloody nightmare. My sister had to hold me back from dashing my brains out against the screen whilst screaming, "I have a degreeee! This shouldn't be so haaaard!"

Although it was almost worth it for photos like this:

And you thought Movember was over. I have nightmares about the fella in the top left. Look at his eyes. Actually, don't. Ugh.

But now I have a visa. Hurrah. A tourist one, for three months should the fancy take me to go a-wandering. Damn you, mortgage, Damn you, job.

So far, so good. I then had to put up with insane numbers of emails at ungodly hours from my mum. Scanned photocopies of her passport. And my dad's and brother's. Could I book in online for them? Queries about currency and how much we were bringing and oh-my-god-you're-not-allowed-to-bring-rupees-in-what're-we-going-to-dooo? I had to meticulously plan my escape from work on Friday so I could go West (life is peaceful there) and get to Manchestaaarr Airport on time. I have to write Christmas cards BEFORE Christmas Eve. Like, sober. All this correspondence. It's like the wedding all over again

Work! Argh! Erm, know any teachers? Always got a massive backlog of marking that they're always whinging about? Counting down the days to the next holiday/marking marathon? That's me. Except I will be leaving in four days time with every mortal task DONE. Every piece of work marked. 

And I'm not there yet. Double-gaaaaah.

But the greatest challenge thus far hasn't been any of this. Oh no.

It's been trying to find summery clothes in the UK in December.  

I trekked Leeds and found boots and woolies. Nothing that resembles a sandal. I am left to rely on my summer of 2011 wardrobe (err, so that would be my I heart York t-shirt and a hoody. If you remember, reader, we didn't HAVE a summer this year. That day in July we got married? The only hot day of the year. FACT. Well, with the exception of that random hottest 1st October which was, like, 75 degrees and I bought the aforementioned I Heart York t-shirt). 

I tell a lie. I made two summer purchases. Now, I dislike clothes shopping generally. It stresses me reet oot. So step up, Joules. You need to be commended for keeping me just on this side of sane. I know you are stupidly-expensive but you are so very pretty.

When you're not overdone. That's a bit twee.

Bedders always whinges that i don't wear enough colour. What can I say? My default position is navy blue. And grey. I like school uniform colours. So I was well pleased when I worked up the guts to buy this.

And then I worried that it looked a bit, well, mental.

So I did what any sensible girl would do. I asked my mum.

"Mum, do you like this?"

Mum, looking me up and down.

"Oh, lovely. Aunty Bridey used to have a pair of curtains like that. I made an apron out of them." 

Great. So I'm off to India in a pair of curtains. Thanks, mum.

Well well well.

Reader, I married him.

And it was a day of a short lace dress, some fun shoes, a Jon Snow-inspired tie, a sprinkling of Tender is the Night confetti, 175 ENORMOUS lamb shanks, some almighty craic and a fecking brilliant band.

We're off on honeymoon armed with a copy of 'Pub Walks in Northumberland'.

Catherine's inscription on the inner leaf? "It had me at 'Pub'." Me too. Can't freakin' wait.

More of this later.

We Have Booked Our Honeymoon

Well hello there.

Self-explanatory title this time, you'll note. We've only gone and booked the ruddy honeymoon.

Somewhere in the distance, a crowd roars in celebration. *raaaaaaaaawrrrrrrrrr*

Am considering a minor celebration as I sit here in the English office, otherwise known as The Bunker (there's no natural sunlight, you see. And low ceilings. Debs referred to it as being "like the bloody Cabinet War Rooms in here" yesterday and I nearly choked on my tea).

 A little conga, perhaps. A solitary Mexican wave. A shimmy around the table.

It's taken what seems like forever to make our choice. We thought about going to Northumberland and doing some serious walking. But then we decided that would involve camping and after last summer's debacle in France (err, do you like sand in your sleeping bag? No? Shame, 'cos it's BLOODY EVERYWHERE!) we came to the conclusion that wouldn't be un bon idee.

Then we thought about Italy. I fancied Croatia or somewhere else a bit Eastern-European. But then the ex-factor reared its head (can you really go on honeymoon to a place where you/your beloved has been with an ex? I don't think I'd be overly delighted with that prospect). 

Then it became less of an issue and we started to toy with the idea again. Ooo, Italy. Ooo, pizza. Ooo, vino. Ooo, Mr and Mrs Smith. Pretty website. Pretty boutique hotels with exposed stone walls and roll-top baths and oh Lordy, Adam, look! They offer breadmaking classes and - 

- ERR, YOU WHAT? £340 a night?

We've decided we're not Mr and Mrs Smith. We're Mr and Mrs Bedford. Or will be, anyway. And we need a more budget-friendly option.

Sardinia? Argentina! New Zealand? Bit of Australia? Combination?

This is our honeymoon, yeah?

This needs to be the best holiday of our LIVES. The pressure is ON, man.

What's the best holiday you've ever had? Where's the best place you've ever been?

Blank faces.

Umm, Northumberland?

Do you remember that weekend in August when we stayed in a fairly average B&B and the Polish owner shouted at us for not wanting the full English in the morning?

Ha, yeah, that was funny. We got some serious mileage out of doing impressions of her.

And when we went on the boat trip to the Farne Islands to see The Amazing Varieties of Bird and Wildlife.

Cue Geordie accent over the ship tannoy: "As yer can see, MOAST of the bords have migrated to Africa...."

And all we could see were views of totally deserted bird-shit-covered rocks. 

Yeah, and then we got engaged there. In Rothbury. 

Where Raoul Moat shot himself. 

Yeah. And the man in the B&B was the campest creature ever.

'Bellini? Bellini?' Aye, gan on then, I'll have a Bellini. Ta. Oh, whats this? A hot flannel? Err....OK.

I love Northumberland. I love the wild skies and the deserted beaches. It's as beautiful as Cornwall (FACT), but not as trendy. The coastline is amazing. The air is so clean and tuckers you right out. The pubs are ace. It's friendly. It's Northern. It's just the BEST.

And, as a decision, it just seems RIGHT.

And LOOK AT WHERE WE'RE STAYING:



I am so excited I can barely BREATHE.

That is all for now.