BMI baby plane transporting katie maloy’s groom home for her real wedding blog
Katie, 33, is in PR, while her ex-soldier H2B Ultimate Hero (UH), 38, is a close protection bodyguard. She will be sharing her wedding diary with us in the countdown to her big day on April 30, 2011.
Well the UH touched down at Heathrow last night. I was so unbelievably anxious it was too much to cope with. I am only thankful I have been so busy with work, otherwise I would have admitted myself – 10.5 weeks is too long and makes someone who is normally eccentric go actually a bit funny.
I was determined to jam-pack my schedule leading up to UH’s arrival. In some ways it was a good thing that I let myself slide down the ‘I don’t groom because my fiancé is in the desert so I don’t care if I look rough’ street until this week. It gave me lots to do on the weekend.
But one thing I could not do alone was my hair removal. UH told me once about these bars in America where you get shot out of a cannon wearing a Velcro suit and fly towards a wall covered in fur, consequently sticking to it. You then get peeled off by some semi-drunken revellers. Let’s just say if I was in one of those bars I wouldn’t have needed the Velcro suit. They could have shot me out the cannon and I would have stuck to the wall and maybe slowly slid down, like one of those slimy rubber figurines you slap on glass and watch slowly back-flip itself to the floor.
In a desperate bid, I went to The Ministry of Waxing in Covent Garden. I thought since they were a ministry there was chance they’d have seen hairier legs than this. My therapist Alison was brilliant and didn’t even hurt me! She just got waxing away as I quizzed her about the new trend for men – the back, sack and crack wax – keen to know how they actually do the sack bit. Alison had removed my fury-cannon-worthy suit before I knew it, and I skipped out of the place hair-free and starting to feel marginally more attractive.
I was busy with work over the next two days, so when it came time to actually go to the airport I was hysterical – torn between mega-excitement and a fear that I may explode in some kind of weird emotional love-burst resulting in all witnesses suffering a life time of post-traumatic stress disorder…
I was meeting UH’s best man (BM) at Heathrow, as he was going to get on the plane UH was getting off. This meant having to pretend to be normal when my only desire was to mug the maintenance man for his ladder, climb up it, punch the ceiling in, launch myself into the air-conditioning shaft and belly-crawl through to the other side so I could meet UH as he stepped off the plane.
Thankfully BM was there to prevent me engaging in such shenanigans. Be sure of one thing though brides: had it not been for that and the fact I was wearing very high shoes, that is exactly what I would have done. Forget the 100ml liquids security clearance, it is the crazed fiancées airport staff need to worry about.
After waiting and sweating and feeling like I needed fresh air and a paper bag to breathe in, UH was two hours late because of the fog. I sat down near some teenage girls and we all marvelled at a chubby baby girl bouncing up and down for ages. Then, without any warning at all, UH shot through the double doors like he’d appeared out of thin air. I wasn’t even looking in that direction, but clearly his remarkable aura blanketed the entire terminal, as everyone seemed to glance towards him. An impossible prayer of mine had clearly been answered: ‘Please let him be the first through immigration and his bag be on the carousel waiting’.
What a vision the Hero is, all tan and perfectly white teeth, pore-less skin (how he has that after 10.5 weeks in the desert, who knows), cropped hair and wearing a strange combination of white business shirt with weird cufflinks from Jordan, safari trousers and desert boots. I barely took notice of his odd outfit choice. I didn’t run. I walked swiftly and met him at the end of the barriers.
Ah, the unmistakable UH fragrance: the buttered popcorn, granny smith apple/caramel fusion laced with a touch of that morning’s aftershave. How I missed it, and if only I could find a way to bottle it.
I squeezed the almighty life out of the Hero – if it wasn’t for his overdeveloped chest I think I would have killed him. Committed to my goal to barnacle myself to UH once I got hold of him after 10.5 weeks of hero abstinence, I didn’t let go to the point where I both refused, and was unable to walk. So UH, being oh-so practical and trained to ‘improvise, adapt and overcome’, picked me up and carried me out of there.
What a sight we must have been: a desert-warrior-businessman hybrid carrying three pieces of luggage and a fully grown, hysterical, love-drunk woman wearing a dress that turned out to be far too short and shoes as high as her calves.
I am still high on my inhalation of the UH fragrance at Heathrow last night, but had to return to reality as I came to work as normal this morning. I have two-and-a-half weeks of having him around and have loads of wedding stuff on the agenda: the videographer, food and cake on Saturday, appointments at the local town halls to register our intention to marry… How exciting!!
So brides, if you see a rather robust man wandering around with a woman barnacled to the side of him, don’t judge – put yourself in my ridiculously high and often borderline bad-taste shoes.
Till Next Week!!
Katie (aka The Ultimate Hero Urchin) xx
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 16 (and find links to earlier weeks) here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 17 here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 18 here.
Read Katie’s wedding diary week 19 here.