Will we ever be ready? Does it matter? We'll get there when we get there, I tell myself, and all will be well.
I'm not convinced that anybody (apart from me) actually believes this... 
Today I have been so cold I can barely function. The water in the buckets down in the garden has remained frozen all day. I'm too cold to even go out and put the Christmas lights on. And of course the central heating boiler is acting up. (It is large, creaky and old - a bit like me, really 
I am getting to have a special relationship with that boiler, I think, born of long hours spent out in the darkness, trying to get the pilot light to work. British Gas keep trying to flog me a nice, new, streamlined combi boiler. Our plumber says we'll be lucky if it lasts a year unless we put in a completely new system. So where did I put that torch?
I am going to do a reading at the wedding - that should be fun. My reading is one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I admit to being a great fan of the Bard, probably because it brings back happy memories of picnicking in fields, with a bottle of cider and a book of poetry (I was a very romantic wench!)
Here is the sonnet in full:
Let me not to the Marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
Oh no! It is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is not shaken;
It is the star of every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown although his height be taken.
Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with its brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
