Kirsty Bosley: A costly affair but no price on perfection

That's why we spend the hour before we have to leave for work every morning running around madly, ironing shirts, trying to locate keys and making wraps so that we don't get canteen-spending guilt. Arranging things in good time, despite us both being professional grown-ups, is not our strong point. I can barely fathom how we made it this far, truth be told. Yet here we are, planning a wedding.

So when we went to view a potential venue last weekend, we did so in a rush, culminating in us taking a taxi to the venue because we had no space to accommodate the 15-minute walk it takes to get there. It was raining, we were miserable, it was early and we didn't have a plan.

The venue is a really cool place in the city centre, but no one has ever got married there before. As a result, there is no established action plan for nuptials, no case-studies of what other couples have done, or any indication as to the best way to structure the day. The staff have been excellent and I really get the impression that they'll do all they can to make our day perfect. They might have an idea but in short: we don't know what we're doing.

You may recall my column from a few months back in which I talked about my ideal wedding reception – the hokey cokey, cheese and pineapple on sticks wedged into a foil-covered melon so it looks like a hedgehog and a dancefloor. That is as far as my big day dream goes.

I'll tell you how I envisage the ceremony going and how I picture the day working out: I don't. So you can imagine how much this shoulder shrugging, bottom-lip protruding, looking-around-the-room-clueless is helping us with our organisation.

If we had unlimited money, I'd throw it at someone and pass over the decision-making to them. Despite being a head-strong, passionate person, I'd rather just be told where I need to be and when. I only want to be responsible for what colours things are, what my dress looks like and what we're having on the buffet. I don't want to be the one who plans the finite details – I just want to get married to my love and then have a big disco.

Unfortunately for me, I've seen the Sex and the City movie, and it gave me an unbalanced view of what is possible. In it, newspaper columnist Carrie Bradshaw's marriage is arranged by a strictly organised, matron-like professional planner. She wears a Vivienne Westwood dress, a gift from the designer herself. Now forgive me for talking about one of those subjects that must never be discussed in polite conversation, but I must.

Actress Sarah Jessica Parker also starred in Hocus Pocus some years before she was cast as Carrie, casting spells and riding a broomstick. The idea that she can fly through mid-air on a household cleaning device is more believable to me than the notion that a flaming journalist earns a salary big enough to justify spewing hundreds of pounds on a wedding planner. Especially one with a shoe habit of Carrie Bradshaw proportions. It's preposterous.

(If you are reading this, Viv, send us a dress to head office?)

What we do know is that we don't want to spend too much time, effort and money on the small details that don't matter to us. Though they doubtlessly make for brilliant photos, the memories will not be of table plan fonts, invitation paper thickness or the colour of the pen used on 'save the date' cards. They'll be of super-tipsy knees-ups, wonderful first dances and laughs. So you'd think that with this simplicity in mind, planning a wedding wouldn't be too much hassle, right?

Wrong.

The first issue we have to tackle is that of wedding food. I'm a veggie, the groom is a veggie and so, naturally, I want it to be a meat-free affair. But the father-of-the-groom has mentioned pork pies more than once now. So do we serve meat to those that want it?

I certainly don't want to spend money on meat and fill the room with the scent of beef wellington. But I don't want to serve vegetarian cuisine and run the risk of wastage and grumbly tums.

The other option is to just revoke the invite of anyone who complains about the food. That might actually work out cheaper, on the whole, and I know my wonderful father-in-law could definitely do without pie for just one day.

And then we've got the dancefloor itself, which to me is the most important element of the whole day after my husband-to-be. The dancefloor is a separate cost all of its own. We have a choice of dancefloors to choose from, from the normal, wooden kind that you can slide along on your knees when you're off your head on Buck's Fizz. Or there's a more extravagant, LED-lined floor, half a foot bigger and a couple of hundred pounds more expensive. I thought a dancefloor was anywhere that you could do the YMCA with your sister. Turns out, there's more to it than that, and it costs.

That's where the real worry lies for me. There are so many surprise prices that I don't know whether I'm coming or going. I tell someone the cost of the venue and they say things like: "Oh that's good, does it include a DJ?" and I reply: "HECK! Does anyone know a good DJ?"

There's the price of booze for the guests to consider, table decorations to think about and someone to man the cloakroom too. Can I get away with just shouting: "OI! YOU LOT! THIS WAY!", instead of buying signs?

Can we just pop to the registry office and then order 100 Papa John's pizzas to our house, put the iPod on shuffle and spend the rest of the money going to Pig Beach in the Bahamas?

Or do you have to pay per cuddle, per pig there too?