A wonderful long weekend in the North East, full of drinks with friends, chilly walks on Bamburgh beach (we were staying in an old manse in the shadow of the castle, of which more at some other point) and Holy Island, familial silliness and laughter.

Also this weekend, we’ve been finalising plans for our wedding, which will take place on Friday 5 March, a week before my thirtieth birthday.

We’ve registered in all the relevant places, spent days discussing menus, booked an interesting venue for a dinner reception, and reserved a suite at a posh hotel for a couple of nights. We’ve figured out a novel solution to the eternal gift registry problem (we don’t need a toaster but we do need a memorable honeymoon later in the year) and have appointed various best men and women.

We - well, I, really - have even spent hours in a hairdresser being lectured about the many and varied possible hairstyles available to the modern bride. I only went in for a trim. I should never have mentioned the W word. The invitations are all designed and printed up and ready to go, and will be distributed to the small guest list this week.

I’m so excited I might actually pop.

For anyone interested, the secret, I have discovered, is threefold:

1. to organise the party instead, and then simply show up for the legalities;

2. to realise that the legalities are almost laughably insignificant - making very little tangible difference to life, tax, feelings, etc. and therefore the party with people you love is the focus of the day. This makes the whole thing easier to deal with;

3. To repeat the mantra: “I want this to be a day we enjoy, not a day we endure.” If you’re paying, do it your way, and don’t let society, family, media, confetti.co.uk or anyone else make you feel you should be doing it some other way. Table favours made of sugared almonds wrapped in coloured netting? Er, no.