Those of you who were following A Warwickshire Wedding earlier in the year might remember reading Cue: Fairy Godmother, which was all about the simply brilliant Mrs BeeKnit and the beautiful bag she designed and made for me to carry down the aisle.

Now carefully wrapped in tissue paper, it is something that I will treasure forever.  But don’t be fooled by its delicate appearance into thinking that it was merely a decorative item, too fragile to serve any practical purpose. Reader, I can assure you that this was most certainly not the case and you are doing Mrs BeeKnit’s handiwork a grave disservice if you should happen to dismiss it as a mere frivolous frippery.

For Mrs BeeKnit’s Bag had an essential role to perform.  A mission to fulfil.  A destiny to realise.  That said, I do concede that its raison d’être wasn’t entirely what you’d call, well, utilitarian.  For whilst I did use the said bag to carry my lipstick, tissues and headache tablets, these very functional items jostled for space with other items which, whilst having a VIP function, did admittedly serve a purpose which most people might consider a tad less practical.

You see, the said bag acted as the receptacle for a host of small but precious objects which collectively represented my attempt to be faithful to that old nuptial saying:

‘Something old,
something new,
something borrowed,
something blue,
and a silver sixpence in her shoe’.

My ‘something old’ was my late Mum’s handkerchief, embroidered with ‘B’ for Barbara, whilst the bag itself was my ‘something new’. A horseshoe pendant on loan from Mrs BeeKnit acted as my ‘something borrowed’, whilst my ‘something blue’ was provided by a fairy charm, studded with blue diamante stones, that was attached to a bottle of nail varnish that I spied at my local beautician’s.  The beady eyed amongst you, will also notice a tiny silver and pearl angel which I took the liberty of adding on the grounds that   as we were getting married in a church it would be good to have a representative from the Judeo-Christian tradition.

And I even managed to squeeze in the silver sixpence given to me by my friend Mrs Doyle. Ok, so I should have slipped it into my shoe but given that I did have the said sixpence about my person, I’m hoping that this minor aberration will be treated as a mere technicality which will in no way negatively impact upon the fortunes of Mr Moore and his ever-adoring his wife.