A few weekends ago, The Boyfriend and I decided to go away for the weekend. We'd decided to go to Suffolk and take in some country walks and pubs. A day before we were due to go, The Boyfriend announced that we'd be going to Paris instead. I was both surprised and delighted, but felt a little bit of déjà vu. You see, this exact scenario had already happened back in March, where it was once again announced that we would be going to Paris at the very last minute. In my over excitement, I'd emailed everyone that I was being whisked away and ended up spending most of the weekend responding to text messages that, “No, The Boyfriend had not proposed”. So this time around, I kept quiet and didn't tell a soul.

I met The Boyfriend on Thursday evening at King's Cross and we went first class on Eurostar. We were so busy enjoying our meal, champagne and wine that we really didn't care when we were delayed. However, six hours later, when we still hadn't got any further than Kent, we began to get a bit twitchy. And at 1.30am, when the train driver announced that we would have to return to London, there was uproar. Three hundred people immediately descended on the three members of staff who were at the Eurostar desk at King's Cross. It was utter chaos, with everyone shouting and screaming. We opted to stay, at Eurostar's expense, in a hotel in London and were taken by taxi. Unfortunately, due to yet another cock up, the hotel had no idea what
was going on and as they had already locked their doors, they refused to let us in. So at 3.00am, we were still sat
at King's Cross station, waiting for a response from Eurostar. "Bang goes my romantic weekend in Paris," I thought. I could have honestly cried from pure tiredness and frustration.

We were eventually put up in a five star hotel and the very next morning we tried again. Thankfully, things ran smoothly this time and we got to Paris on Friday afternoon. So, after all the palava and not very much sleep, I was astounded when The Boyfriend, in front of The Eiffel Tower (which was all lit up) asked me if I would marry him. Well, of course I said yes! I know I bitch about him in this column and yes, he can be a drunken football mad buffoon at times, but of course, I said yes.

We then celebrated with the biggest beer I've ever seen (a grande beer in France is actually a pint-and-a-half in a glass) which I think The Boyfriend/Fiance very much needed. I am, of course, very excited, but am entering into a brand new world of which I know very little about. I was talking with my sister about choosing an engagement ring and she said rather knowingly,
"Remember to think about the 4C’s." The what? The Boyfriend,and I were just going to choose one that we both liked and didn't realise we had to investigate Cut, Colour, Clarity and Carat.

In this new world there live monsters called Bridezillas. These creatures seemingly become obsessed with talking about weddings and how much they can spend and outdo each other even if they're not getting married for years to come. This may explain why, when I've ’phoned a couple, of venues to enquire about the availability for weddings next year, I've practically been laughed at by everyone, for it seems that the Bridezillas book their weddings three years in advance, hence there's no room left for the likes of me who dares to want to get married within a year of becoming engaged.

I suspect that a girl at work is one such example. She has told me about her plans in detail and advised me last week that the standard amount to be spent on an engagement ring is three times the man's monthly salary. This would explain the boulder shaped rock that is balanced on her finger. But is that me? Does anyone else think this is a ludicrous amount of money to
spend on an engagement ring?

The Fiance and I will be paying for our own wedding, so we will not be hiring a horse and carriage, a stately home, or spending three month's wages on an engagement ring. I truly believe that in some instances, such as this, where the amount of money and level of detail are obsessed about for months on end, detracts from what the point of ‘The Big Day’ should be all about, and that's each other. So yes, whilst I may mention some preparations in my forthcoming columns, I will do my best not to turn into a Bridezilla and retain some sense of what still
matters in this world.