Like every bride-to-be as soon as that ring goes on that finger, it's all about making my wedding 'different', making it 'us' - plus there's the added pressure of the 'Ooh you work at Brides, your wedding is going to be amaaaaaaazing!'

But finding a wedding venue that fits in with this plan is not, well, going to plan... No I don't want the gold package with menu B, no I don't want to pay £12.50 corkage a bottle so I can have wine I like, and no I don't particularly want the party to finish at 11pm (we're 26, we're not wanting an all-night rave, but...) Am I being too picky?

I focused on the advice given by the married Bride-ettes: 'First, decide what kind of bride you are.' But this is easier said than done when how I see my day-to-day look can flit from 'Mad Men-secretary chic' to 'art school student falls into her wardrobe' on consecutive days of the week. How am I supposed to pick just one look, for one day, for my wedding!

After the Glastonbury proposal, I thought I'd stick with a theme and visualize myself as the 'Carefree-in-the-Country' bride. So I found a field on the banks of the Thames near Oxford ( - ask local marquee companies, they are a fount of knowledge on lesser known marquee sites), started picturing quaint country marquees with bunting and flower-clad poles (, even considered a luxe 'wedding camp' from Raj Tent Club ( and dreamt of floaty dresses and flower garlands in my hair... ok, so I get carried away quite easily. The boy even told me he was 'really getting into designing the look of the field', which I think is the sweetest thing he's ever said bar 'Will you marry me?' He even started talking about hiring a punt for the river... I think he gets carried away just as easily.

Then my mother informed me that she has a thing against marquees, which, bar a complete U-turn, kind of throws a spanner in the works of that idea. I know she just wants it to all go to plan - she fears rain and mud, dodgy loos and a catering oven going bust - so we have the perfect day. But it's left me with a wedding identity crisis on my hands.