The Brides Little Book Of Secrets

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Moving in with Steven had been a mistake. But now at last I had made my bid for freedom, and I was about to move into a place of my own. Well, sort of my own.

This time I was committed for only a year, and an academic one at that — September till July. Nervous as I was of taking up my new job, it seemed a better option than my only alternative: returning to live with my parents. Everyone but my parents found him charming.

I was therefore determined to make this new job work. Admittedly there were complications, such as my never having worked as a teacher before. But I had a degree in English and a post-graduate teaching qualification, and fond memories of my own schooldays that might make returning to the classroom feel like a homecoming.

The former stately home of one of the richest gentlemen in Victorian England, it was nationally recognised for its historical and architectural significance. Wrapped around the mansion was an immense private estate of beautiful gardens and parkland, isolating it from the real world. It felt like an upmarket nunnery. And like a nunnery, my new home would keep me safe from any more unsuitable romances, for the simple reason that there were no men on site.

Thinking of applying for a post as a lighthouse keeper, I had been disappointed to discover the role was now entirely automated.

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On balance, a residential teaching post was much more appropriate. Now gazing up at the marble columns to the ornately painted domed ceiling, where chubby cherubs circuited the heavens above me, I felt the size of an ant — and about as likely to be crushed underfoot by the next passer-by. After seven years of living with Steven, my confidence was not at its peak. Yet for the first time in seven years, I was calling the shots in my personal life. The responsibility was intoxicating — and not a little terrifying. A tapping noise interrupted my thoughts. Just starting to descend the sweeping staircase at the far end of the hall was an elegant young woman of about my age with eyes like polished jet.

She flashed a taut smile as she stepped lightly and rhythmically down the broad marble stairs, perfectly equidistant from the swirling wrought iron bannisters on either side.

Lynne Graham

For a moment, I thought she was going to break into a Busby Berkeley routine, with men in top hats and tails springing out from the shadows to tap-dance down in her wake. How she managed to stay upright in pencil skirt and black stilettos as shiny as her neat black bob was beyond me. Having reached the foot of the stairs, she marched purposefully towards me across the antique Persian rug that gave the only touch of warmth to the hall.

Even on this sunny early September day, the chill air nipped at my flesh. Now I understood why the school uniform list in the prospectus included thermal underwear. Congratulations on your appointment, by the way. A good English teacher is hard to find these days. This time, my voice rebounded from somewhere near the cherubs.

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I coughed. I thought you would have had much better candidates than me to work at such a beautiful school. Oriana closed her perfectly made-up eyes, showing off symmetrical upticks of black eyeliner. Nor will she, so long as you behave yourself.

I have always been very good at behaving myself. She swivelled on one stiletto then paced briskly back to the marble staircase. I staggered after her, a suitcase in one hand and my backpack in the other, leaving me with no means of gripping the handrail. What a shame if I died before even setting foot in my new flat. The passage beyond leads to the classroom quad, where the English classroom awaits your personal touch.

But that can wait. Each is named after a saint. The staff in St Vincent are thankful that their nickname is not any worse. The girls swear in code instead. She led me around a corner to a long, dark corridor. The other girls are genuinely shocked when that happens, and of course we staff have to pretend to be terribly cross.

She nodded. Breaking those rules satisfies their teenage need to rebel without escalating their misdemeanours to more serious crimes. She halted by an ancient oak door. A large leather fob had been left in the lock. Pulling the brass doorknob towards her, she turned the key clockwise. I braced myself for the worst that might lie within. Water running down the walls? A foul smell?

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Oriana gave the door a firm shove, and it creaked open to reveal my new home. She stood back to allow me to enter first.

To my surprise I found myself in a light, airy space with a bay of huge sash windows. The thick mauve brocade curtains complemented the purple Persian rugs scattered carelessly on the gleaming parquet floor. Here are some of the worst things bridezillas and groomzilla s have done to their wedding party and wedding planners. Apparently it was her special year and not just a day. She threw a huge fit that this girl was only getting married to "steal her thunder" Her friends date wasn't even in the same month or season.

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Hers was in October and her friends was in June Brides sometimes don't think rationally. Does weddings. Got punched in the face by the groom because the groom decided that the photographer was "taking too many photos of the bride. Apparently at the rehearsal the prior night the bride thought the coordinator was taking too much of her time after two questions , and relayed through her bridesmaid that the coordinator was no longer allowed to speak to the bride or even look her in the eye.

All communication would have to go through a family member from there on out. She had actually assumed the bride would get over her tantrum the day of the wedding, but nope, still no talking or eye contact.


The coordinator tried her best to keep the wedding day going smoothly and on time but it was really tough to do so through proxy. Taking photos took forever because I had to make sure a bridesmaid or sister was always with us to tell the couple where to stand and how to pose. It was one of the most awkward jobs I ever had. By the time I came into the bridal suite, she had switched to screaming at her bridesmaids for looking prettier than her and made them change their hairstyles to "look uglier. I was the planner for a wedding and had been working with the bride and groom.

A few months in to planning the grooms mom calls me to change the date of the wedding. Couple did not know anything about the date change and said to completely ignore the grooms mom and call them if she tried to get in contact. I'm not a wedding planner, but I do work in the industry and my friend is the wedding planner I'm telling this story about. He can do everything from wedding dress design and execution, flowers, you name it. And his services are not cheap. The conversation went something like this:. I'm in love with you.

We’re Giving Away Our Most Valuable Bridal Marketing Secret…

You just GET me! I've never met anyone else like you! We confiscated it and promised to give it back at the end. One of these guests was the groom's father who brought a whole keg of ale. We weren't selling any more drinks so we decided to leave early, refund the customers a bit of money and leave all the confiscated booze behind.

Eventually we had packed everything in to my bosses trailer and were ready to leave. My boss pulls away out if he car park as the groom comes out of the venue and starts hurling chairs at her car and trailer, screaming nonsense and swearing at the same time. I turned the key in my car a classic VW Bug which of course didn't start.