A couple of years ago, I went to a wedding of a friend I hadn’t seen in years. Nothing unusual about that. There was a spell in my early thirties when a friend was tying the knot every three seconds - it got to the point when it would have been easier to sign my salary over to John Lewis for all the money I was spending on its gift list. Only this time the wedding stands out in my mind for it was the first time I had come across the phenomenon that is the “unrecognisable bride”.

As I stared down at my order of service, my mind was whirring. When had this happened? When had my old friend transformed into this bambi-like creature I saw before me? Instead of being a size 12 or so, she was now a size 8, and her teeth were Hollywood-perfect, whiter than the icing on the cake.

Her breasts were perkier, her nails were longer, her waist waspier, and her make-up considerably heavier than I remembered. If it weren’t for the fact that her name was written on the order of service, I’d have thought I had wandered into the wrong church. It wasn’t that my friend looked bad - quite the contrary, she looked stunning - it was just that she didn’t in any way resemble her former self in a manner that was slightly baffling.

Call me a know-all, but I have read enough bridal magazines to know that the first rule of being a bride is to try to look like yourself. The aisle of the church is not the place to try out a “new you” to your assembled friends and family - and especially not your new husband who, after all, has married you for the person you are, not the woman you think you ought to be.

I’m not the only one to have witnessed Sudden Bridal Transformation Syndrome - my friend Anna has also been to a wedding where the bride looked like a total stranger. “When I went to my friend Jane’s big day she looked totally unlike I’ve ever seen her before - and not in a good way. My abiding impression was of Hillary Clinton - her hair all bouffed and old-fashioned plus air hostess heavy make up.”

Of course, slimming down for your wedding is hardly a new thing. Even Dawn French, a card-carrying champion of the larger woman, succumbed to social pressure and dropped from a size 18 to a size 12 for her wedding to Lenny Henry. However, she admits to mixed feelings about her weight loss: “I fell for it: I thought you couldn’t get married unless you looked like the people on the cover of Brides magazine... All the time I was on the diet, the only thing I could think about was food... I got into the dress and didn’t know who I was.”

If the wedding industry had its way, I would have started a diet months ago in preparation for the wedding. I would have been religiously following a Pilates course, perhaps taken up kick-boxing, maybe a spot of power walking. I would also now be a couple of weeks into my manicure regime, to “prepare my nails for the big day”. I would have been “training my face” with regular facials, so that I wouldn’t erupt into unpleasant “break-outs” on the big day.

Unfortunately, I have eight weeks to go now, and there’s still no sign of any type of regime, beauty or otherwise, on the horizon.I’m still waiting for it to happen, but somehow it never does. I’m not sure if it’s down to my age - perhaps you’re more accepting of yourself when you’re older, either that or you’re too knackered or lazy to care. But, if anyone asks whether I am on a pre-nuptial purge, I tell them: “Yes, it’s called the ‘only eight weeks to go and I’m getting stressed already diet.’” It’s very simple: you just obsess at regular ten-minute intervals, eat very little through nerves/lack of appetite, and slowly but surely the weight begins to drop off you. It worked for both of my sisters.

That’s not to say I’m totally without vanity. Following a particularly stressful house move last month, what started as a tingle on my lip turned into a full-scale lip sore - a canker of epic, eye-watering proportions. Since stress is known to set off the humble cold sore (apparently it lays dormant in your system, waiting for your immune system to be on its uppers and then give you a good kicking), I have taken to swallowing an amino acid called lysine once a day. It’s a vast white horse pill that makes me gag, but promises to keep medieval eruptions at bay. Still, what price beauty on your wedding day?

Email TheHitch@thetimes.co.uk post-haste with your own top tips for remaining recognisable.