“Keep this weekend free,” he says, pointing at my iCal.
“Why?”
“Just keep it free.”
In the week leading up to the surprise weekend, clues are carefully offered.
“You’ll want a nice dress and heels for Saturday night.”
“Don’t look at your emails from Amazon.” (A bottle of Moet arrives in the post.)
“You need comfortable shoes for Friday.”
“Bring a nice, casual outfit for Friday evening and a casj outfit for Saturday.”
“Oh – and bring a bikini.”
I suggest we share a bag to save lugging two bags around London – especially as we’re also packing an overnight bag for our toddler for his weekend stay at Grandma’s. “I’ll have my own bag,” he responds.
On Thursday evening, I’m under strict instructions: “Don’t go over to my side of the bed. Don’t add anything to, or rummage in, my bag.”
Needless to say, by Thursday evening, my hair and nails are done, and everything’s waxed, plucked, shaved, buffed and tanned.
… Must not get hopes up.
We’re on the train! A little later than desired, but hey, we’re on our way to a fun weekend. I’m warned we’re going to have “an active evening”. Christ, please don’t let there be any climbing, abseiling or hiking; it’s a cold February afternoon and it’s meant to rain all evening.
In Moorgate, we look for our first location. I’m striding down the road, hunting for a hotel entrance. How did we miss it? Ah, we’re not looking for a hotel; we’re finding a small door up to a nice studio apartment we’re staying in tonight.
A quick whizz round – spritz of perfume, outfit change (or should I stay as I am?!), brush teeth. We’re in the cab, off to… Aviary. Woohoo! A great surprise; somewhere I’ve wanted to go for a while. Nice cocktails with a view; shame about the weather.
Just three minutes later, we’re in crawling traffic and can practically see our destinations. Out we hop. Comfortable shoes were already a good idea.
One delicious cocktail (Asian-inspired for Chinese New Year) and some scrummy Chinese nibbles down, and the boyfriend tells me where we’re off to next.
Wait for it… Fatboy Slim at Alexandra Palace.
Fatboy Slim, the DJ I’ve seen countless times because I love him so, so much.
Whoah. How incredibly exciting. God, I’m chuffed I wore my trendy, comfortable boots – though bugger my handbag of choice is my birthday Ralph Lauren suede bag. Can we pop back and swap the bag? Damn, I didn’t bring a small bag. Hey ho, better be careful and not get too pissed.
I didn’t realise how far out of London Ally Pally is. I should have suggested a couple of cocktail tins for the journey. Quick cat nap…?
Boom, boom, boom, boom. Dance, dance, dance, dance. Yes, yes, yes, yes!
The cabby’s classical music on the way back nearly sends us to sleep. That’s no bad thing; we’re (thankfully) not off to an after-party or going clubbing. B. E. D. by half past 12.
… And, thankfully, no hangover.
The boyfriend pops out for croissants, tea and coffee. I slowly get up, shower and message friends about how fun the night before was.
Sadly, very little is open in Moorgate at 8 AM on a Saturday, so it’s slim pickings for brekkie. Tea, coffee, cheese toastie and a sausage roll will have to do.
“Would you like a little present?” he asks.
“Yes, please!” I beam. “Should I put some makeup on?”
Three minutes later, I hop back on the bed, nervously – eagerly – awaiting my present.
Rummage rummage rummage.
“I’ll just take this into the bathroom,” he mutters.
I fidget on the bed. Is this it?!
The boyfriend emerges from the bathroom with a book in his hand. A book. Right, okay. Lovely, but not what I was expecting… (Though I did request he choose me a book multiple times over the Christmas break, having felt ungraciously dissatisfied with a Waterstones gift card. A thoughtful gift after all.)
He sits next to me on the bed and shows me the book. It’s not a book I’d typically read, though I do know the author. He tells me he chose this book because it’s a funny story about how two people find love. There’s a dog-eared corner about 50 pages in.
“I just always thought,” he reads, “our family of two would grow, and someday I’d have a house full of little voices, deep laughter, endless love.”
He says something like, “This is what I want for our future.”
I’m grinning.
Then he turns the page, and carved snuggly into the bottom margin is the most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen. Nestled in a hand-cut groove over 300 pages deep. Wow. Honestly, the most beautiful ring; if we had chosen it together, I wouldn’t have picked a more perfect ring. Lucky, lucky me. How marvellous.
Cue squeaking, cuddles and kisses. And, unsurprisingly, a great big YES! Followed by a few rushed texts to family and close friends.
Incredibly, and completely unplanned, my family dial into a group WhatsApp. Family Assemble, indeed. One sister’s just waking up the other side of London, the other is out drinking with friends in Australia and both parents tune in from either side of their kitchen table.
Packed and back outside the Moorgate apartment, the city is normal. How can people be getting on with their daily lives while we’ve JUST GOT ENGAGED?! I’m floating on a little fluffy cloud – mercifully, grey rain clouds are holding off their downpour.
Into the Uber we hop. Where are we going now?
Uh! The Londoner. Crikey.
While awaiting our room to be ready for us (the hotel receptionist assures us it’s worth waiting for this room because of the view – we beam), we take the lift to the guest area for complimentary champagne.
“Starting early, why not?” he says.
I can’t help but tell him, “We just got engaged!” with a big smile on my face.
My boyfrend fiancé clearly informed the hotel staff that this is a very special weekend because the receptionist gives a knowing grin.
By midday, we’re starving. Scarlet Green for brunch? I say “yes” again!
The cold, wet weather disuades us from wandering around Leicester Square too much, so we enjoy a rest at the hotel. All that dancing last night…
As if the romance hasn’t peaked, when we walk into our room, not only is there the promised London skyline view, but we also have (what we soon realise are the most delicious) artisan chocolates awaiting us. And polaroid pictures of our shared life so far are laid on the bed and stuck to the walls. *Swoon.*
“Would you like a bath?” my fiancé asks after we’ve settled in, requested an ice bucket and made a cup of tea.
Admittedly, the bath is very shallow, but we make do. This time, it’ll have to be a bath for one, not two. Epsom salts poured, a candle lit and rose petals sprinkled, I slide in and relax.
When you’re staying in a swanky hotel, why leave? And so we honour our reservation of dinner and drinks at the rooftop restaurant/bar. Delicious. Luxurious. Romantic. We’re engaged!
We climb into bed simultaneously joyous and sad. Sad, because our Engagement Day is ending.
Selfishly, on Sunday morning we’re not quite ready to return to parenting life. Packing up our toddler’s things from Grandma’s, loading up the car and hitting the M25 threaten to pop our happy, blissful bubble. What are we to do?
The spa. A mellow swim and a soak before we check out, and return to our (very happy) life as a husband- and wife-to-be.
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Still Searching for Prince Charming 