Angela and planning a wedding

I’m getting married in a few weeks.

Sometimes as we’re just on the verge of sleep one of us will suddenly remember ‘oh we need to call the bus company’ or ‘what about a cake!’ Or ‘did we invite this person’. My brain doesn’t work past 8pm so I usually mumble something about the morning and drift into fragmented dreams of cakes. We have lists written on my phone (me) and on huge sheets of graph paper we dug out of some far flung drawer that hadn’t been opened for 20 years (him).  He’s a pen and paper kind of guy. He’s also the only person I know who still uses a landline. 

We’ve signed documents and met with the celebrant. The other day we drove down to Mystery Bay and walked the beach and the campsite, marking out the best spots. We had lunch at Tilba winery, the reception venue where we shared our first kiss just over a year ago. We visualised hundreds of people dancing the awesome bands we’ve booked. ‘This is going to be the most relaxed wedding ever’, they say. Most of the time I agree and feel totally relaxed about the whole thing, but every now and then a wave of panic hits me. Can organising a wedding really be this easy? Isn’t it meant to be hard? 

Every now and then we’ll look at each other and say is this really happening?! We’re getting married. what the fck. Neither of us saw ourselves as the marrying type. The other day my Dad reminded me of a childhood dream I had to be a bridesmaid. I must have seen a photo in someone’s normal house of a normal wedding with people wearing normal clothes, not like my Mum and Dad who only got married because it was easier legally. They went to a registry office, didn’t invite anyone, didn’t have rings. My Mum wore her work clothes and went straight back to her teaching job at the local college that afternoon. 

At my friends neat, new build houses on estates with fitted carpets and white furniture I saw photos of meringue style dresses and girls in pink. I was captivated. All I ever wanted was to dress up in fancy clothes and look pretty. My parents were the least likely people to indulge such frivolity. Dont you have anything warmer? my Mum would say about most of my clothing choices. When I was 11 the Spice Girls exploded into the drab British pop music scene. I saved up all my pocket money to buy a pair of towering lime green wedges. I would sneak them into my school bag and get changed on the bus. 

A couple of years later a new boy arrived at our tiny little school where nothing exciting ever happened. His name was Matt. He had a mohawk and wore eyeliner and a bike chain for a bracelet. I fell in love instantly and overnight my style changed from Spice Girls to Goth. I  rolled my skirt up and wore heavy make up and got everything pierced there was to get pierced. I dyed my hair black and cut a very un-attractive fringe. ‘You dont make a very convincing goth’ everyone said. Too smiley, and much too tanned. Most mornings at school assembly I’d be told to scrub off all my make up and take out all my piercings. I didn’t mind too much as this took up a lot of time so I missed as many lessons as I could. I was the first and maybe only person at my school to get their tongue pierced. I kept it a secret from my parents which was quite easy because I didn’t really speak to them beyond the odd grunt. The teachers didn’t know either but the word spread around school and I’d constantly have kids coming up to me asking things like ‘did it hurt’ ‘can I see it’ ‘can you still eat food’. Like I said, nothing much happened at my school 

The only adult I knew who understood my obsession with fashion, make up and wanting to look good was my Dad’s friend Angela. Angela had been best friends with my  grandma Rachel on my Dad’s side who died when I was 8. She lived in a houseboat in Chelsea with lots of cats.

Rachel was funny and glamorous and drunk lots of wine and swore and let me eat salami and baguettes with brie cut thicker than the bread. She wore bright red lipstick and laughed at what she called my sophisticated taste. She took me and my brother to Harrods and said we could have whatever we wanted. I don’t think I’d ever been in a department store in my life. I remember the gold lettering and the impossibly clean marble floors and everyone walking around in their sharp outfits. All I’d known was my parents and their hippy friends and whole foods and bulk buying and making things from scratch. I couldn’t believe this world existed.

I got overwhelmed and chose some fluffy toy (probably a whale) which I promptly dropped off the side of the boat as soon as we got home. As I balled my eyes out Rachel calmly picked up a fishing rod, climbed down the side of the boat and fished it out, dried it off and handed it to me without getting a spot of mud on her pristine trouser suit. I was in love. That’s how I like to remember it anyway. Memories are a funny thing. The images behind my eyes always change but the feelings remain.

Angela was like the daughter Rachel never had. She was completely different to my parents who thankfully were stable and intelligent and grounded, and didn’t drink and weren’t addicted to anything, apart from maybe work in my Dad’s case . Angela was erratic. Most of the time she’d promise to come and visit but wouldn’t turn up, leaving me heartbroken as she was at one time my favourite person in the world.  When she did show up she’d tear into the driveway in an old sports car dripping in gold. She understood my obsession with fashion and when I told her I was going to a party and didn’t have anything to wear she’d say things like,  ‘ oh honey, the clothes dont really matter, as long as your make up is done well, you can wear any old thing.’

She dropped me off at the cinema to meet my boyfriend and winked at me as I got out of the car. She was always laughing. Apparently she also had chronic, debilitating depression and would sometimes go weeks without getting out of bed but of courseI never saw that side of her. She was an actress and was married to a semi famous actor called Leslie Phillips famous from the Carry On films. They lived in a sprawling Victorian house in the leafy and very desirable Maida Vale. 

I went to visit her once. It was my first time on the train by myself, I think I was about 11. My Mum packed me sandwiches and gave me detailed instructions. When I arrived at the busy station in London I stepped off the train into a mystical world of people and smog and billboards. I was the quintessential innocent country kid, staring up in disbelief and the monster city around me. I lost my breathe thinking she would never find me in this throng but there she was, dressed in black with a shock of blonde hair and waving enthusiastically. ‘We’re going to have the best time!’ She said. Leslie is away. It’s a girls weekend!!’

I had no idea what a girls weekend was but I remember the euphoric rush of belonging. 

We wandered around Chelsea and past the houseboat my Grandma Rachel lived on. ‘You look so much like her’ she said. She took me to Harrods and bought me a brown crepe Moshino dress that cost hundreds of pounds. She took me to her hairdressers who also cut Lady Diana’s hair. We went to the theatre and I wore my lime green wedges and she didn’t turn her nose up. 

My Mum was not impressed when I told her all this. Why did she buy you that expensive dress? You’ll grow out of it in 6 months.

I dont think I ever wore the dress. It hung in my wardrobe for years and every now and again I’d get it out and look at it warily. I was almost too scared to wear it. 

Angela was wildly impractical and had lots of cats. When we were wondering around London she said, oh I think I’ll just buy one more kitten, I won’t tell Leslie. When it was time to go home she put me on a train back to Hereford, but she put me on the wrong one. This one changes at Birmingham love, the conductor said. I remember panicking, I dont know how to change trains I’m only 11. Of course I was fine and I made it. When I got back to sleepy old Hereford Mum was waiting for me, looking rather worried. I like to think it prepared me for years of train travel through South East Asia where buses would stop for no apparent reason in the middle of the night and kick everyone out. 

Angela died a long time ago and I haven’t thought about her for years. I love writing these letters because they remind me of the significant moments in my life that I forgot about.

Every time I sit down to write something completely unexpected pours out of me. I’m lying on the floor in the courtyard area outside the studio. the cicadas are in full swing and a few deflated tourists are walking round ‘Birdland’, the weird bird park next to the studio that seems to exist in its own time warp. Nothing has changed since the 80’s everyone says. 

The days have been hot and humid. I’ve had to drag myself out on walks around the tracks and within minutes I’m covered in sweat and red faced. Every single time after a few minutes I feel better. Walking has been the most incredible medicine for me recently. I start to feel strange if I haven’t walked and even though the hills are a struggle, the freedom I feel striding through the bush covered in sweat and mud is exhilarating. 

Yesterday marked the Leo full moon. 

Rachel and I went down to the beach at 430am to celebrate. Thank God I have friends that will come on these crazy adventures with me she says. She bought a kund (fire pit) and we tore the Sunday Times into little strips to burn as there was a storm last night and all the sticks were wet. The full moon peaked at 4:45am Sydney time. We watched the moon rising through the mist as we drove down sleepy streets to the ocean. The kangaroos were the only other sign of mammalian life. They watched us for a while and then jumped away. We chanted and spoke our intentions for this Leo full moon, the first full moon of 2024. 

Themes were

~ how much do I trust in life? 

~ how can I bring more play and lightness in?

~ how can I nurture my friendships?

~ how can I loosen the grip my ego has on my ‘work persona’

~ what is enough?

We lay on our towels and looked up at the stars that were starting to fade to make way for the sun. Leo is ruled by the sun and Leo is all about the heart. 

Today as we celebrate the full moon energy, what prayers are you making for you, for your community and for the collective?

I want to say thank you for all the beautiful people in my life, especially for all my female friendships. I’ve often struggled to form close friendships and at times felt lonely and isolated, always taking the seat of the teacher and feeling comfortable there, yet feeling lost and confused in social settings. 

Under this full moon I honour all my friendships. I commit to truth, openness, courage and mutual respect and support in these friendships. I tell my friends how much I love them and what I love about them. I give thanks to the energy of fullness, summer, prosperity and abundance and also honour and give thanks to the winter, the dark, the times of deep rest and journeying into the underworlds. I give thanks to it all. 

Happy Full Moon and Happy Life!!