Thanks for nothing, Meghan and Harry – weddings are taking over my life

Finally, after a couple of false alarms, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle have announced their engagement. Within minutes, the first royal wedding-related press release arrived in my inbox. It was from a bookmakers on the odds as to where the nuptials will be held and the date – Westminster Abbey and May are the front-runners, fyi. Then a jewellers chipped in on its tips on how to propose (with one of its pricey trinkets, ideally). Next up was a missive on engagement gifts, a topic a quick-off-the-mark freelancer pitched minutes later. And so it will continue until the spring, then it will move on to products spuriously pegged to the honeymoon and their marital home. As a shopping editor, I expect this, of course. But it does mean weddings, already dominating my social life, have permeated my work life.

At 32, a year older than the average first-time bride in the UK according to the Office of National Statistics, I’m starting to feel like I need a bit of a quiet from the wedding noise, for my own sanity.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy weddings. The feeling you get watching two people in love make that commitment in front of their nearest and dearest always has me tearing up and giving out one of those gasps that I always thought were the preserve of hammy soapstars. When a shining-eyed girlfriend swishes past, radiating a heady mix of happiness and nerves, I can feel my face doing an involuntary inane grin that starts somewhere in the stomach and bubbles up into a gurn of joy. I also very much like an excuse to get happily drunk with old friends and new. My wedding top tip from the 30-odd I’ve been to over the last seven years: a bit of a ceilidh, or Scottish dancing, is a brilliant cross-generational icebreaker. Just be prepared for someone, usually a drunk uncle, to get over-excited during a set of Strip the Willow.

So yes, I fully embrace the celebrations. But of late, my life is starting to feel like a real-life, less posh version of Four Weddings and a Funeral. Except you can turn that funeral into another union and then add some more on top of that. I am bridesmaid three times in the next six months. All of these are an absolute honour and for three of my closest and oldest friends. I know if any of them hadn’t asked me I would have been gutted, but there is no denying that being involved in a wedding is time-consuming – and a stark reminder that you haven’t quite got what they’ve got.

My appointments have also prompted my supportive, well-meaning mum to say: “Oh, Sal, why are you always the bridesmaid?” I’d argue that I’m in the wedding parties because I’m really lucky to have some great female pals in my life who, evidence suggests, value my company as much as I cherish theirs. Or it could be something to do with my press discount cards. It’s not an expensive party that mum wants for me, though, it’s the perceived lifelong security that comes with marriage, even if the reality is very different.

Weddings eat up a lot of time and head-space. It’s not just the big day itself, it’s often a weekend if it’s further afield, or longer for a “destination” wedding abroad. If you are on bridesmaid duty, there are dresses to choose, fittings and alterations (I swear the seamstresses just measure you wrong so the shop can demand more of your hard-earned cash). There are hen dos to plan, often weekend jaunts. I’m currently in about six different whatsapp wedmin and henmin chats with moodboards for hair, make-up, shoes and jokes about strippers.

I take pleasure in these, mostly, as I’m sure Meghan’s entourage will as they swap ideas – I like to imagine even a royal hen-do will involve willy paraphernalia. Every so often though, I’d like to pick up my phone, check my emails or plan my weekend with no mention of the W-word.

I’m not anti-marriage by any means. My stance is that ideally, eventually, I’ll get married if that’s what both parties want. But any formal lifelong commitment will happen when it feels like the natural next step, not before - whatever my inbox and the line of invitations on my mantelpiece seem to suggest.