Lucy Mangan was never going to get married. Who gets married these days when the average cost of a wedding is GBP25,000? Twenty. Five. Thousand. Who is embracing the absurdity of spending that much money on one stress-filled, feud-stained, fear-packed day? 'Hi, Mum' 'Is there something wrong, dear?' 'No nothing, I've just ...just got engaged.' A pause. 'Do you mean engaged to be married?' 'No, I mean engaged as a children's governess in a turn of the century classic novel. Of course I mean engaged to be married.' 'I don't believe it! I wish I could tell your grandma!' As Grandma died six years ago, this is unfortunately not possible. 'I know, but could you tell Dad instead?' 'Oh no, that's no fun. I'll tell Auntie Judy instead. And congratulations, about time too. And tell Christopher I hope this means he'll be keeping his shirts clean from now on.' Having discovered the hypnotic effect of diamonds -- the ring is by far the best part of this complicated affair -- Lucy begins planning. Or rather her mother and sister, Emma, who has sectioned, colour-coded folders, begin organising ...everything. They are itching to get their sensible, practical hands on this project. The invitation -- did you know that the invitation practically defines your wedding? Flat printing means one thing, engraved means another. Plus, writing an invite list is like writing Christmas cards, the infinite subtleties of friendship are reduced to simple binary terms, 'On or off?' Finding a caterer who doesn't charge GBP5 for a vol-au-went. Finding a dressmaker who doesn't make you cry. As well as friends chipping in with arcane bits of advice, 'If you're having lace, it must be French'. Apparently. And the list goes on ...

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