James and Rox got engaged in January 2010. He’s a 6ft 3in Brummie, and she’s a Yorkshire lass who tops out at 5ft 2in on a good day. They were together for seven whole years before James proposed, so either Rox has the patience of a saint, or he was well worth the wait. Sadly, it’s the former. James will be representing the boys every week up until the big day in August.

Rox and I didn’t get much sleep last Friday night. Not for any worthwhile reason I’m afraid, it was just because Saturday was such a big day for us. In fact, of all the important days throughout this entire wedding planning process, this one ranked right up there. You see, last Saturday was the crucial first fitting of the holy wedding dress – cue dramatic music! And even though it had no direct impact on me, the residual fall-out was potentially massive if it went wrong.

Ordinarily this would be a significant event for most brides-to-be, but it was doubly nerve-wracking for Rox because she’s having her dress hand-made from scratch by a friend of a friend. So unlike most girls, Rox was yet to have that lightning-bolt moment when she finally tried on The One. Instead, she’d seen a dress in a magazine that she’d completely fallen in love with, but sadly couldn’t afford because neither of us comes from aristocracy. Tenacious as always, Rox made it her mission to figure out a way of getting that dress without having to rob a bank. I have a theory that it’s like six degrees of Kevin Bacon. In other words, if you ask enough people you’ll eventually find someone who knows someone that is a friend of a friend of a woman whose auntie just happens to make wedding dresses.

So Friday night was pretty restless for Rox, and by proxy for me too – yes, we’re living in sin I’m afraid. But it wasn’t a nervous excitement like the night before Christmas; it was more like the terror you feel the night before an exam that you haven’t revised for. We got to Leeds first thing and went for breakfast, but we were both too nervous to eat. I know it sounds ridiculous, but Rox had no plan B if the dress wasn’t right. If she didn’t love it, tough – she’d already paid for it.

So I dropped her off at the dressmaker’s house and waited anxiously in a cafe nearby. An hour passed, and I assumed the worst. I had visions of Rox despising the dress, but being way too polite to say anything, and just smiling dutifully through the anguish.

Then the phone rang – it was good news. Actually, it was very good news, because she adored the dress. So after more than a year of being engaged, Rox had finally experienced what she deserved more than anything: the lightning-bolt moment.

We celebrated with a bottle of wine... and a few G&Ts... and a couple of cocktails... and quite a few Sambucas. The morning after was pretty painful, but at least we had no trouble sleeping that night.

My friends are baffled at how emotionally invested I was in Rox’s wedding dress. To be honest, most of them are baffled by the term ‘emotional investment’. But in my mind it’s a simple equation – if Rox is happy, I’m happy. But it has to work both ways of course. I’ve got the first fitting of my bespoke suit in a few weeks’ time, so I expect full reciprocation. If Rox gets more than four hours sleep the night before I’ll be very upset.

W Day: 165 days and counting

Catch up on James’ eighteenth week of wedding planning (and links to earlier weeks) here.