As I release you from the tenterhook you will have suffered since last week’s instalment to my Autumn Wedding Compendium of blogs, I feel that my partner in crime – Mother of the Bride (MOB) to my Mother of the Groom (MOG) – will not be offended if I refer to us both as ‘broody hens’ as we begin our countdown to her daughter’s/my son’s Big Day.

Technically, we did not make the cut for last weekend’s Hen Do (actually, there was no ‘technically’ about it, we did not get an invite). I feel partially responsible for this, for I know that the hens would have included us if I – like the MOB – could play tennis, dance and drink more than one shot. Although I talk a good game, sadly I am lacking in all of those departments. They were right to leave us at home, but I will be getting some training in before my daughter’s wedding next Spring for, even though I dance very badly, now that I know that you can hire a dance bus complete with glitter ball and lights, I refuse to miss out a second time.

Anyhow, happily there were no hard feelings (honestly) and the MOB bounced right back by inviting all of the bridesmaids and this old MOG to a luncheon in Notting Hill yesterday. Cunningly we hatched a plan that during the lunch the two of us would work a pincer movement down the table, taking notes and comparing the girls’ anecdotes from last weekend to ensure that they had actually told us everything and that they had shown us ALL of their hen photos. Some would say we were demonstrating FOMO, but we justified our nosiness as completing due diligence before the big event and we owed it to my son.

To add some context, before the lunch I met up with Favourite Son (soon to be Favourite Groom). Last weekend, knowing that his stag party had been taking place in Malaga, to say the least I had been a little bit on edge. You never stop being a mum and although I was not expecting hourly updates, I knew that I could only feel relieved on hearing that all of the stags were back – with all their belongings and limbs – in the UK. I had been saying just this to Himself while we were out for a coffee on the Sunday morning (he was trying to keep me occupied and valiantly resisting telling me any ‘hilarious’ stag stories of his own, when we happened to bump into a father of one of the other lads on the stag do; I asked him if he had heard anything from the crew and he said, ‘no news is surely good news?’ and told me not to worry. Fifteen minutes later I receive a text from my son telling me that the whole contingent are waiting to take off in Malaga and that all is well. ‘Love you mum. I have had the best time. Nothing to worry about here, now find something else to fret about’.

I spent the week telling everyone – total strangers even – what a great son I have. ‘Don’t you think that it is considerate of him to message me – knowing I would be on edge – to let me know that all was well on his stag do?’ I still firmly believe that I have a great son, but yesterday I discovered that his sensitivity was nudged by his friend’s father who, after seeing me in the cafe, messaged the Authorities in Malaga saying, ‘get the groom to message his mum urgently, the woman is a total mess’.

From meeting my son before the bridesmaids’ lunch, I garner the following intelligence:

• No limbs were broken in the making of his Stag.
• My future son in law (the lucky lad is going to marry my gorgeous daughter next Easter), although professing himself shy and not knowing anyone, came back with a bandaged foot (murder on the dance floor) and the belief that he and the Bride’s brother are the Daniel Bedingfield Karaoke Kings.
• My friend’s son (yes, he who told me that no news was good news) came back with a front tooth veneer missing (the casualty of a night out many years ago) . Despite scouring the pool at the Air BnB the stags could not find his missing dentistry but did reclaim my son’s wallet and phone.
• Fun fact, the running total of beer consumed averaged 12 pints per person per evening. These boys have come a long way since I used to ferry them to junior school rugby matches and watch them give each other black eyes on our trampoline. It is a miracle that they made the flight home. Feel so proud.
• They all got food poisoning from the same paella and this had absolutely nothing to do with their liquid consumption or wedding preparation. We will check the menu at the wedding venue.

And, from working a pincer movement at the bridesmaids’ lunch, I garner that (I like the word ‘garner’ today, I hope I am using it properly):

• My new daughter in law has a gorgeous group of bridesmaids with a great line in chat.
• My new daughter in law was obsessed by Cheryl Cole when she was younger…and now, thanks to the wardrobe provided on her Hen, has photos to prove that she could indeed be her body double.
• My new daughter in law and her mother have the best taste in Greek restaurants.
• I need to eat out more because I mistook a savoury tasting plate for a dessert confection – I have never seen a potato dauphinoise so convincingly imitate a Mr Kipling tea time fancy. After last week’s blog about my niece’s Italian nuptials, I feel that I may be making a fool of myself whenever fine dining is involved. Selflessly I will need to eat out more before THE wedding; my son must not be humiliated.
• I missed out on some free tattoos and a mask of my son’s face from last weekend, but did come away with something I am now using as a nuptial bookmark. Cute. See photo.
• The MOB keeps displaying new talents. She stole the show and reduced everyone to tears by reading a poem she had written to ‘My Daughter’s Beautiful Bridesmaids – Her chosen family, the rarest few’. (Not only a great poem, but a sure fire tactic to ensure that she gets invited to every future hen party involving these girls. She is clearing her social diary as I type and rest assured she has form on the dance floor).

I wobble my way back to Paddington Station with a big grin on my MOG face (I did attempt a little sip of one of the Greek shots that appeared once we have cleared the real dessert menu and became far too giggly for a woman of my years. Actually I only sniffed it: I am a total light weight). I am starting to wonder what life will be like with no wedding prep to factor into my weekends. I will need to brood on this, but in the meantime that well known magazine ‘Wedding & Sons’ has been hounding me for my next couple of nuptial instalments – ‘How to Buy Just One Outfit for your Son’s Wedding’; ‘Hat or no Hat?’; ‘Wedding Cake – Sweet or Savoury?’

Keep following me for wedding wisdom. Aisle be back…