Peepshow at 2km per hour.

Recently I got home from a trip to Germany. This trip involved a lot of out-of-this-world eating. I was eating things I never thought I could stomach... fleish salad (sausage in mayonnaise), white asparagus drowned in hollandaise sauce, liver wurst for breakfast, and bread, bread like you have never imagined! Needless to say I have come home and feel like I've have become a little sausage-esque (especially when I squeeze on my jeans). Having hung up the joggers for the last eight months, I decided that the best way to get back in shape is to get in the pool. I pulled my old one piece off the clothes line (I accidentally left it out there for the two weeks I was away)and headed for the local pool. I'd never been there before but found that it was a fantastic centre with lots of different pools. I dragged my swimmers on, tightened my goggles and padded over to the stepladder. I thought the slow lane was best for me, right next to the teenagers doing squad training. I used to swim a lot when I was in Niseko, recovering from my knee injury. I was able to do 2km then. I didn't expect to do that now, but I was unprepared for how difficult each lap was. At first I alternated freestyle and breaststroke, but eventually just stuck to breaststroke. My lack of fitness left me breathless. After a while I began to feel the squad coach staring at me. I entertained the idea that he thought my style was excellent, only slow. It's funny the sort of things your brain does when you give it no stimulation but counting laps and a wavering blue line. I completed forty laps of, what I thought was, a 25m pool, in just over an hour. A very slow, meditative swim. I had enjoyed stretching my limbs and kicking, with my torso as bouyant as possible. I felt the cool of the water on my skin, especially my buttocks. I put that down to the fact that I was lifting myself out of the water and the air was chilling me. I was proud of myself and ducked the ropes to the step ladder. My legs were weak and I wobbled to my towel, wrapped it around myself and headed for the showers. On the way I passed a sign which read, '50m pool'. I was so relieved! I had made my 2km! In the shower, as I was congratulating myself on not being TOO out of shape, I noticed how the water felt strange on my body. I twisted around and looked at my behind. There, staring me in the face was the image of my bare bottom, completely visable, through my worn out old cozzie. It had not stood up to the test of time. I felt my legs go weak a second time. I had mooned the entire pool! As I walked out of the change rooms, dry and warm, I flung my old togs straight into the bin. I think a new pair is in order, in perhaps a very different colour... and maybe a swimming cap too. Maybe a complete disguise, before I ever get in the pool again.

My Slice of Wedding Cake

Ever since I was a young girl I have fanticised about my wedding day. It's always been perfect, absolutely perfect. All my friends and family come to watch me, dressed in the most expensive, oops, I mean exquisite gown. They ooh and agh, oops, I mean ahh, at me and my perfect groom and then compliment me on how simply stunning I am and how perfect we are. Insert sound of breaking glass. Truth be told, have never really dreamed of that perfect day... Every girl's one perfect day. I have always wanted to be married, to have that promise of love everlasting. Companions and compadres 'till the dying day. It's romantic, especially when you see an elderly couple holding hands. But a wedding? Honestly, I think about weddings. I mean, for goodness sake, this is the second time I've sat down and written about weddings and marriage. I do, I contemplate how different types might be fun, how I'd fit in them or how I might co-ordinate them; fancy dress, masquerade, surprise, at home in the garden. The more weddings I go to the more I think about them: pretty dresses, bands without amps, clever decorations or magical entertainment.

I enjoy them and celebrate, admire and fawn with everybody else. I feel the love and shed tears of joy for my friends. It's emotional, and beautiful, and I'm a softie for the sentimentality of it all. I admire how creative people are, wonder at how they find such unique and stunning ways of declaring their love. Then a voice in my head, that sounds a little like an old cynic, begins to question things. Why is this wedding in a venue you can't get home from? Did they think about the possibility of a storm when they booked this boat? How many people could actually eat seven courses? Do the bride and groom need to leave us to our own devices for four hours, while they have a film crew follow them down the streets of Sydney?

Why is there so little food for so many people? The list of annoying questions go on... And I can't shut them out! They persist, and I begin to wonder, "Is my own wedding something I could handle?" Is the pressure and the planning too much, are the choices and expectations going to drown me? Is it really the day every little girl dreams of? Am I alone in wanting to keep it simple, sweet and (gasp) small? The perfect example to me, of the juxtaposition of modern weddings, is in the SNTC movie. Carrie's perfect day is whipped into a frenzied meringue of consumption. So much so, that her relationship itself gets chewed up and spat out. She is whisked away by her well meaning (interfering?) friends before Mr Big even had a chance to, well, to be reminded of why he was doing it. I could feel the audience yearning for Carrie to pause, but the 'Wedding Mania' had control of her and, with a passionate swipe of her unbelievable bouquet, it was over. Never fear, Hollywood won't leave you crying, they reunite and their happy ending is found in the registrars office in a simple dress and stunning shoes. This is followed by a bright and cheerful meal shared with her closest friends. Sound good? I ask people about their weddings these days. I'm curious. I have had so many fill my spare weekends that it's almost like a personal research project. The more ladies, especially older ladies, I speak to, the more I hear about this phenomenon of the 'small' wedding, or even no wedding at all... Just a date to sign the paperwork. My mum and dad were married this way. A couple I know simply booked out a cheap and cheerful restaurant that they frequented in order to celebrate.

It was such a carefree event, they forgot to make sure there were seats for themselves. A woman I used to work with told me with rosy cheeks of the blue paisley dress she made herself, the brown floppy hat and the ceremony on a neighbour's flat garage roof... Because it had a great view. The guests all brought plates of food and they wandered down to the park for a picnic after. I don't begrudge the big weddings of today, but I wonder where they come from and when it became the norm. The Good Weekend fixes the average cost of an Aussie wedding at $36,000. That's a pretty expensive way of saying, 'I love this person and I want to spend the rest if my life with them'... Or am I being a tight arse? I have found one person who agrees with me. My very clever (could I be so bold as to add, perfect?) boyfriend. He is not from around here, and frankly he finds the spectacular Australian wedding, well, a spectacle. He doesn't understand what engagement parties, bridal showers, or even weddings are. Where he's from there is rice on the ground outside the registry office. This is because people gather to welcome the new husband and wife, have pictures together in the park opposite and then troop off to a restaurant for dinner and drinks. They might organise a wedding party, but they are nowhere near as elaborate as ours. On the other hand they have traditions, strange traditions. The bride may be kidnapped by the groomsmen during the night and the groom has to rescue her, sometimes footing the drinks bill the 'thieves' leave behind. The happy couple could have to saw a log in half with one of those two sided handsaws for tree lopping. The night before the wedding the couple and their guests smash crockery for good luck (sounds fun!)

Very strange indeed, but definitely traditions... So much so, that you can guess how they came about. I hinted to a very dear friend, whose advice and opinion I value, that I would consider a wedding in my beau's home country. She exclaimed that it was my big day too. But you know what I have realised? I've realised that if it's my special day, my perfect day, I can do it the way I want. If that means it's just me and my man, on a beach somewhere amazing, or tucked up in a cosy restaurant while it snows outside, or even under the golden oak in mum's front yard, then that's clearly my perfect day right then and there. In the meantime, however, I have misplaced my RSVP for your perfect day... Put us down as a 'Yes'.